Natural Born Mage
by tyrnfrd
Summary: Harry Potter has a secret - magic. It's why his aunt and uncle hate him, and why they act more normally when he hasn't blown anything up in a while. Harry Potter AU where Harry discovers a small amount of control over his magic long before Hogwarts.
1. Privet Drive

**Author's Note:** This story is mildly inspired by _For Love of Magic_ by Noodlehammer, to which I owe a great debt. However, it is my own, though rights to characters and settings of course belong to J.K. Rowling. Updates on my creative process and my thoughts on the story can be found on my author's bio. I also post exclusively about my stories and my thoughts about fanfiction on my eponymous tumblr blog, tyrnfrd.

**This story has been moved forward 15 years from the canonical timeline, so that Harry is, like myself, born in 1995. Just to make my life easier. Enjoy.**

* * *

At number four, Privet Drive, lived a young boy who seemed nothing more than ordinary. But things had not always been that way for Harry Potter. He had learned early to not mention any strange dreams or happenings to his uncle or aunt, nor to mention anything other than video games and food to his portly cousin, Dudley. And when strange people in eccentric clothing tried to stop him in the street and speak to him, Harry would quickly walk away and make very sure that his Aunt Petunia never saw it. And for quite a few years, Harry Potter was entirely ordinary. So ordinary in fact, that Uncle Vernon allowed Harry to move from the cupboard under the stairs into Dudley's second bedroom, the smaller one, even smaller than the guest bedroom, and certainly smaller than Dudley's bedroom or Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia's master suite. And once Aunt Petunia even raised her voice to Dudley to tell him to "make sure Harry is enjoying that game too Duddikins." Harry was of course not enjoying the spirited game of Harry-Hunting, but both he and Dudley swore black and blue that it had been Harry's own idea, and from then on, Dudley was much kinder to Harry, even allowing him to play games on his new PC while Dudley himself was occupied with the television or one of his radio-controlled cars.

Unfortunately, nothing good can last forever, and in his first year of junior school, Harry had an 'incident'. Doing the washing up, Harry put his hands into the still too hot water, and withdrew his hand with a yelp, drawing the attention of his uncle. Vernon's attention was drawn however to the now-empty bowl, the offending water having been vanished as if by magic. The portly man's face purpled below the walrus mustache dominating his face, and he let out a yelp of his own. "Boy!" Uncle Vernon yelled, "After, after all we've done for you," he sputtered, enraged by such abnormality, "Go to your cupboard!" And so Harry ran to the cupboard, quivering with fear.

When Harry finally left the cupboard under the stairs the next day, he observed the barely contained rage that his uncle still displayed, which was frightening enough. But more discomfiting to the youngster was the way in which his aunt seemed to pretend nothing had happened, her face studiously blank. Dudley, as Dudley was wont to do, didn't seem to have noticed any change at all. Harry himself was unsure of what exactly had caused this shift, but he resolved that it could never happen again.

It took a week before Uncle Vernon finally seemed to mellow to his usual disagreeable self, and another before Harry was allowed to return to his bedroom, instead of the cupboard, but life at number four got back to normal before too long. But the incident was still well within Harry's memory when Dudley came back one day from the school library with a fiction book for his required reading.

Dudley Dursley was not a studious child, and was indulged greatly by his parents, and so when it came time to take a book home from the school library, Dudley would always take the shortest ones, with as many pictures as possible. But now that he was in junior school, he was pushed by his teacher to take home a book with multiple paragraphs on a page. And when he refused, she picked one for him. And when he brought home a fiction book about a little girl learning to become a witch, something entirely unprecedented happened. Both Vernon and Petunia Dursley, parents who could not deny their child's slightest whim, exploded at their precious offspring. And Harry witnessed the whole thing. "Magic!" Uncle Vernon raged, as his face rapidly became puce-colored, "there's no such thing! I won't have it in my house!"

"No such thing!" agreed Aunt Petunia, giving her shrill input, her face draining of all color, seemingly transferring all the blood flow to Uncle Vernon's. "And I won't have you reading such a book! I can't understand it," she whined to Vernon, "Little Duddikins is usually such a good boy. Why would he pick such a horrible book to bring home?" Dudley himself, unable to process anything other than total praise and acquiescence from his parents, broke down in tears. Harry quickly vacated the area and made his way to his room. Now he had an answer. Magic was real, Harry could do it, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hated it. And if his aunt and uncle hated something, like an unevenly cut lawn, it was a very bad idea to be the one responsible. Many of their neighbors on Privet Drive with less-than-perfect mowing skills could attest to that. But if Harry wanted to avoid performing magic accidentally, he realized, he would have to learn to control it. And that meant that he would need to learn how to _do _magic. Harry Potter would become a wizard.

* * *

It took Dudley a week to notice that Harry's lunchtime routine had changed. Dudley tended not to pay much attention to his cousin, except when he needed Harry for something - a distraction, or to copy homework, or to bring him a sandwich from Aunt Petunia. But at school, Dudley rarely sought Harry out. When Dudley did eventually notice, he found Harry in the last place that he himself would think to look. The library. And as soon as he found him, Dudley waddled away. It wouldn't do to spend too much time around the library. He might catch something.

Harry, on the other hand, was rapidly working his way through the entire contents of the school library, or at least everything to do with magic. He hadn't found anything useful though. He would have to go to the public library and see if they had more. Fortunately it wasn't long until the summer holidays.

Once the holidays arrived, Harry spent every day in the same routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, do his short list of chores for Aunt Petunia, and then spend his day wandering around the neighborhood. This had been his routine during the summer for as long as he could remember, but now wandering the neighborhood had been replaced with dashing directly to the public library. Specifically to the shelves containing Dewey Decimal 793.93, and a book known as the _Player's Handbook_. Harry had read many works of fiction before arriving here, but now he had a manual for what to do.

There was no doubt in Harry's mind that he was a Sorcerer. And quite clearly human. He had initially been drawn to the description of Wizard, since most of the children's fiction books he had read described wizards and witches, and there was no entry for witch, but strange things happened around Harry without him trying or studying to make them happen. Unfortunately, this didn't give him much to go on. But the book did say that sorcerers needed to do magic in practice to get better. So he flipped to the back of the book to take a look at the cantrips. Many of them didn't look very practical, or easy to test, but he made a short list. _Light. Ray of Frost. Mending. _He could use that on his glasses. He checked the list again, and smirked, adding one more to the list. _Daze_. He could use that on Dudley. Might be tough to see if it actually worked if he tested it on Dudley though.


	2. Light

**Chapter 2: Light**

"Urgh!"

The grunt came from a small boy, raven black hair still somewhat messy even under what might have been an entire bottle of hair gel adorning the top of his head, bent and scratched wire glasses on his face. The boy stood in the shadow of a small group of trees in the local park in Little Whinging, Surrey. His hands were held together, a grimace of focus on his young face. Harry Potter was trying to learn the Level 0 Evocation spell _Light_. In his hand he held a precious firefly, the material component recommended for the cantrip. It had taken a lot of effort to catch a firefly, and Harry was going to make good use of it. But the cantrip did not seem so easy to learn. In fact, Harry was beginning to wonder if he even _was_ a sorcerer, or if he had simply imagined the whole thing. But to young Harry Potter, an enraged Uncle Vernon was the most terrifying thing he could imagine, and so he persevered.

_Light_, according to the book, had a verbal and a material component, and he had the material component. But there was no description of _what_ the verbal component should be. So Harry had been ignoring it. But now, he felt there was no choice. So Harry decided he would just start shouting words, and hope one of them worked. Forcing himself to try to shove magic out through the hand holding the firefly, Harry let out a yell. "Light!" Nothing happened. He tried again. "Light!" Nothing. "Light, light, light, light!" he screamed. Still nothing. Harry groaned. "Let there be light!" A desperate attempt, but no result. "Light!" he tried one more time, one desperate time. A flicker, a tiny tingle in his arm. Nothing more than the light of the sun glancing off of a wristwatch, little enough that Harry checked his wrist instinctively despite not even owning a wristwatch. A moment later the young boy was dancing for joy, bouncing in and out between the trees. He had done it! Not well, to be fair, but Harry Potter was officially a sorcerer, and he could learn to control this previously uncontrollable and terrifying power.

After his initial success, Harry practiced every time he was out of the house. But he made no further progress other than the occasional flicker. He consulted the book again. There was nothing for it, he decided. The book said that sorcerers improved their skills in adversity, and so adversity it would be.

As long as he didn't make any noise or cause any trouble, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon gave Harry pretty much an entirely free rein. They would rather not think about him, and that suited Harry just fine. So they never checked where Harry was at night, and Harry never told them that he would walk to the local park, wander into the trees, and practice magic. He thought they'd probably rather not know. So Harry lost himself in the trees, and with creating light his only chance of finding his way out before morning, there was certainly adversity to be had. He only stayed out until morning once.

The following week he began to learn _Ray of Frost_. And before long, school started again. Harry continued to practice his magic, but with less urgency now, and with less free time to do so. And so the school year passed. And another, and soon it was the beginning of summer and almost at Dudley's birthday. Harry still had not mastered _Ray of Frost_, but he used _Light _from time to time when he stayed out too late, or on his way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. But there had also not been any more incidents, and so Harry was happy.

Before too long it was June 23rd, Dudley's birthday. Harry woke with the sun and slowly got up and dressed, before going down to breakfast, observing Dudley's huge pile of gifts. He tuned out his cousin's whining about the quantity of gifts received, and served himself some bacon and toast, thinking about his own upcoming birthday, and wondering if he would get as good a gift as he had the previous year, when Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had gifted him a pair of brand new glasses, the best present he'd ever had. Even Dudley had given him something, although it was only a book left over from the chubby boy's own birthday five weeks previous. This year Harry was hoping for a new Stonewall High uniform, as he didn't want to wear Dudley's cast-off hand-me-downs dyed grey on his first day at his new school. After all, there was only one first day of high school, and he would have to attend for another seven years. A good first impression would be important.

Harry was startled out of his reverie by the ringing of the telephone. Uncle Vernon picked it up and made a few unintelligible grunts down the line, before putting the receiver back down. "Mrs. Figg broke her leg," the walrus-like man grunted in Harry's general direction. "I guess you're coming to the zoo with us and Piers." Harry smiled in response. He'd always wanted to go to the zoo.

Piers arrived not much later and he, Harry and the Dursleys crammed into Uncle Vernon's car, with Harry naturally in the middle seat. The journey to the zoo passed quickly, especially as Uncle Vernon seemed to consider it his civic duty to exceed the posted speed limit by at least ten miles per hour at all times. By the zoo entrance there was an ice cream truck, and Petunia bought ice creams for the boys, even allowing Harry a cheap but delicious ice lolly.

Once they entered the zoo, Piers and Dudley ran off to cause trouble immediately, and Uncle Vernon rushed to the nearest bench to sit down, Petunia following. Harry was left on his own, just as he liked it.

It was a hot day and it didn't take long for Harry to gravitate to the only indoor space in the zoo, the reptile house. Harry let his eyes adjust to the dim light, and then went to see what he could see. He checked out a few exhibits before his attention was captured by a magnificent, huge snake. "Wow," he breathed, "what a beauty you are!" To his shock, the snake replied.

"Thankssss," said the snake. Harry jumped. That was odd. He supposed it was part of being a sorcerer. He glanced around the reptile house quickly. He knew Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia wouldn't like this. But they weren't there, and neither we're Dudley and Piers, so guiltily, Harry returned his attention to the snake. "I really shouldn't talk to you," he said, "Uncle Vernon would get quite upset. But he's not here, and wow, a talking snake! Can you talk to anyone, or ist it just me?"

"Jusssst you," the snake replied. "Do you have a mousssse? I'm hungry."

"No, I'm sorry," Harry whispered back sadly. "I wish I did, I know what it's like to be hungry. Do you not like it here?"

As the boa constrictor was about to reply, Harry was roughly barged to the ground. Collecting his wits, he saw Dudley and Piers staring at the huge constrictor. "Cool!" Dudley said.

"Yeah!" replied his sidekick.

Harry stood up, watching as Dudley banged his fist against the glass. He felt sorry for the majestic beast, trapped in a cage, forced to endure the stares of rude and cruel children like Dudley and Piers. All of a sudden Harry felt a change in the feeling of the air around him, and he watched as the glass vanished beneath Dudley's hand and his pudgy cousin fell forward into the enclosure. Chaos erupted as the fat boy's screams attracted passersby and zookeepers, horrified by the escape of a huge predator into the outside world. As the boa constrictor slithered out, Harry could have sworn it turned and winked at him. "Ssseee ya, amigo."

Uncle Vernon barely looked Harry's direction on the way home, and nobody spoke a word. Even Dudley could tell it wasn't a good time to demand his parents' attention. Harry knew this was his fault. He didn't doubt that his control over his magic had slipped, and he knew why. When he had been practicing _Light_, his greatest successes and breakthroughs had been at times of high emotion and high need, and this was no different. He had let his magic slip because he had been upset about the treatment of his new friend. But fortunately Uncle Vernon had no proof, and so while Harry was sent to bed without supper, and Vernon and Petunia's earlier pleasant moods had evaporated, there were no further punishments.

Harry woke up early the next morning to Aunt Petunia rapping her knuckles against his bedroom door, and once he announced his consciousness her shrill voice penetrated through the wood into his room. "Get up, get dressed, quickly now, do your chores and then out of the house until dinner, you understand? Chop chop!" Harry sighed and picked up yesterday's clothes off the bedroom floor. Dudley's hand-me-downs were no worse today than any other day, he supposed. And if he got downstairs quickly maybe he could get some breakfast before Vernon woke up.

Harry snuck a quick breakfast and got straight to work on his chores, finishing the dishes, the dusting and the weeding in record time before heading straight to the library. Usually he might have gone to the park, or wandered the neighborhood, but today he had research to do.

Harry eventually decided that the _Player's Handbook _was just wrong. _Speak with Animals_ wasn't even a Sorcerer spell, and while maybe it could have been _Tongues_ that allowed him to speak to the snake, he wasn't sure that snakes actually had a language. Even so, _Tongues _was 3rd level, and Harry was pretty sure that he wasn't 3rd level, given that he could barely manage to cast a single cantrip. This was pretty hard for Harry to take, as the _Player's Handbook_ had so far been his best source of information. He made a mental note of the cantrips he still wanted to learn, and walked out of the library, head down, into the June sunshine.

Harry paid little attention to where he was going, but when he did look up, he realized he'd made a mistake. Usually at home Dudley was indifferent to Harry, or kind in the condescending way one could only be when they had everything and you had nothing, but Harry had just come across Dudley with his entire prepubescent _gang._ Usually Harry spotted them from a few blocks away and turned down a different street to steer clear. But today he had been too distracted. He had seven more years to go living with the Dursleys, and his most reliable source to prevent accidental magic had just proven to be not so reliable. So he had wandered up almost directly to Dudley's group. And Dudley's day had been ruined yesterday at the zoo. When Harry had been there.

Piers, Gordon, Timmy and the rest began jeering and leering as Dudley strode over to Harry. "Potter!" he yelled. "You think it's funny to ruin my birthday, huh?" Harry's stuttered attempts to deny his involvement fell on deaf ears as Dudley squared up to his cousin and planted a meaty fist in the smaller boy's face. Harry fell to the ground, blood pouring from his nose. "That'll teach you," Dudley crowed, before picking up his bicycle from where it rested on the curb and riding off. His gang picked up their own bikes and followed, though Piers made sure to kick Harry's foetal form on his way.

Eventually Harry recovered from the shock, but to his horror, he realized that his glasses were broken. He knew that getting new ones was not an option, as Petunia and Vernon would be unlikely to pay for anything for him at the best of times, but right now he was on thin ice. But at the same time, Harry was incapable of doing anything without them. He was as blind as the proverbial bat, surely one of the reasons that he had been gifted the glasses to begin with. You can't pull up weeds if you can't see them, that's for sure.

Fortunately, Harry had been planning to try to learn a new cantrip today, although he had not yet decided which one. It looked like it would be _Mending_.

Five hours later the sun was beginning to hasten its descent from its zenith. Harry knew he would have to get back to number four soon, or miss dinner, but he still had not figured it out. By luck and memory as much as by sight, Harry had navigated the neighborhood to Mrs. Figg's house on Wisteria Walk. The older lady had gasped at the sight of him, but had hobbled on her one good leg to let him in, and allowed him to clean up in the downstairs bathroom, before declaring that she was going to take a nap, and to let himself out when he was ready. Harry was certainly ready to leave the musty, cat-odored house almost as soon as he entered, but he had decided to make use of the privacy, not guaranteed anywhere else in Little Whinging, to work on the cantrip.

_The Book_ said that there was no material component for _Mending_, for which Harry was very grateful. So he decided to use 'mend' as the verbal component and got to work trying to force magic through his body into the shattered glasses. Over and over he tried, yelling "Mend!" as loudly as he dared without waking Mrs. Figg or causing the cats to panic, but again and again it failed to work. Almost in tears, desperate for some kind of breakthrough, he changed tack "Repair!" he yelled. "Repair, oh repair!" Instantly the glasses were whole again. Harry let himself out Mrs. Figg's front door not two moments later.

The evening meal was uncomfortable and silent, but within a few days the Dursley household returned to normal, and Harry's birthday was fast approaching when one day his uncle sent him to bring in the mail as the Dursleys were sat at breakfast. Harry thought nothing of it, but his heart rate spiked as he saw the letter on top of the pile, a brown envelope inscribed with glittering emerald ink:

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_The Smallest Bedroom,_

_Number Four, Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

He heard Uncle Vernon lever himself up from the kitchen table, and quick as a flash the strange letter was shoved into the oversized pocket of Dudley's hand-me-down tracksuit bottoms. And Harry walked into the kitchen to hand Uncle Vernon the rest of the mail.

* * *

**A/N: **All recognizable aspects of character and plot belong to J.K. Rowling. Again, a great debt is owed to the story which most influenced this one, Noodlehammer's _For Love of Magic_. But anything not recognizable is my own. Please feel free to read my much longer Forgotten Realms fic, Thirdboy. I think it's quite good.


	3. Hogwarts

**Chapter 3: Hogwarts**

_Mr. Harry Potter,_

_The Smallest Bedroom,_

_Number Four, Privet Drive,_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

The letter had arrived barely five minutes prior and it was already burning a hole in Harry's pocket by the time he managed to excuse himself to the smallest bedroom. In no time at all he had torn open the envelope, barely pausing to examine the ornate and anachronistic wax seal depicting a lion, a snake, a badger and an eagle. Rapidly he removed two sheets of what seemed to be a thick, yellowed paper from the envelope, and began to read.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_This letter constitutes your formal acceptance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find in attachment the full list of required books and equipment for the school year._

_Term begins on 1 September. Please send your reply no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall,_

_Deputy Headmistress_

Harry's heart pounded. This was too good to be true. This was a thousand times better than the Player's Handbook. This was a million times better than going through life alone trying to control his magic by himself. He bet at Hogwarts it didn't take years to master a single measly cantrip. But then the pounding stopped, and Harry's heart sank all the way down into his feet. There was no way he could go to Hogwarts. Uncle Vernon would never allow it. Although maybe Aunt Petunia might, if he made it clear that he was going to learn how to stop doing abnormal things. At least where the Dursleys could see him. He flipped to the next sheet of the strange yellowish paper.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_First year students will require the following equipment. Please note that all equipment should be clearly labelled with the student's name. Students may bring more than the specified amount of all standard equipment, with the exception of wands. Students may also bring one owl, or one cat, or one toad. Any other familiars are not permitted except by special dispensation of the Deputy Headmistress._

_Uniform:_

_All uniform articles must be standard black wear, from an approved supplier._

_3 Sets of daily work robes, with underclothes._

_1 pointed hat._

_1 winter cloak_

Below this was a list of books, and then other equipment, as well as a strongly worded reminder that first-years were not allowed to bring broomsticks. This was a slight disappointment to Harry, but of far greater interest were the books. The Standard Book of Spells stood out straight away. What Harry wouldn't have given for a real spellbook, with real instructions, three years ago. The other books seemed slightly less useful, but all very clearly magical. Harry couldn't wait. Of course, he also had no idea how to reply to the letter. Just address his return letter to "Hogwarts" and drop it in a pillar box? He couldn't imagine writing the words "Witchcraft and Wizardry" on a letter would be a good idea. That could get him sent to the loony bin. If Harry couldn't have already done magic, he would've thought this an elaborate trick by Dudley. Or maybe one of Dudley's slightly less braindead hangers-on.

Harry waited until Uncle Vernon had very certainly left for the day, and until Aunt Petunia finished dusting that spot on the mantelpiece about which she was so particular, and then nervously tiptoed downstairs to speak to his aunt. He found her in the kitchen sipping on a cup of tea, perusing a gossip magazine. He tried to speak but his nervousness got the better of him. Eventually Aunt Petunia noticed, and she looked up. "Well, what is it?" she asked curtly, "I haven't all day, Harry. And you have chores to be getting to."

"Um, well, Aunt Petunia," he muttered, improving his elocution slightly as he noticed his aunt's eyes narrowing, "I, uh, I got this letter. Today. From a place called Hogwarts." His aunt's face went white as a sheet and she let out a tiny gasp. Harry pressed on, deciding to get his words out while she was too shocked to speak herself. "It's not that I want to go," he lied, "I don't. But sometimes things happen around me. By accident. And maybe if I went to Hogwarts I could learn to control it. To stop doing it." 'Around you and Uncle Vernon,' he added silently in his head. 'And Dudley too if he was going to rat me out.'

Aunt Petunia gave him a piercing glare, but her look eventually softened, although color still did not return to her face. She sighed. "I suppose I knew this was going to happen eventually," she said softly. "Sometimes things happen whether you like it or not. I'll speak to Vernon," she continued. "I'm sure I can make him see that it's for the best. You're a good boy for coming to me like this, Harry."

Harry stood completely silent and motionless as his aunt spoke, seemingly more to herself than to him. This was perhaps the best day of his life, and he didn't want to ruin it by saying or doing something that he shouldn't. But what Aunt Petunia said next really made it the best day of his life. "Your mother was a witch, and supposedly a very good one. The only one ever in the family." Harry was shocked. Aunt Petunia had never, not once, spoken about his parents, and Harry had soon learned never to ask. It seemed that now she had accepted that Harry being magical was unavoidable, she could finally open up. "But she was proud of it, and every time she came back from school she wanted to stay in the normal world less and less. And eventually she married your father and she just never came back. Don't ask me about him," she added, "I never met the man, and I wouldn't want to." Even with the vindictiveness of that final statement, however, overall Petunia just seemed sad. Petunia and Harry faced each other in solemn silence for a moment more, and suddenly the incident was over, the letter was in Aunt Petunia's hands, and Harry was hard at work weeding the garden.

Vernon Dursley was pulled aside by his wife that night almost before he had time to hang up his hat and place down his briefcase. Harry had made sure to vacate number four a whole hour previously, and so he did not hear Vernon's sudden exclamation of rage, his wife's placations, or the eventual resigned sigh. When he returned home close to dark, he was whisked aside just as quickly as his uncle had been, and sat in a low wooden chair in Uncle Vernon's study. His uncle glared down at him, while Aunt Petunia merely looked at him, poker-faced in the extreme.

"So," Uncle Vernon grunted, "You got that letter. Well," and here Vernon's mustache twitched, seeming almost alive, "we decided there's nothing for it. You can go to that ruddy school, since they want you so much, but there will be rules, you hear me?"

Harry considered answering, but decided that the question had been rhetorical. After all, it was pretty difficult not to hear Vernon at the best of times, let alone when the large man was enraged.

"Here's the rules," Vernon continued. "You don't talk about school, you don't use the name of the school, you don't talk about what you learn, you don't use the "M" word. And most of all, you never, ever, ever, practice anything you learn in my house, understand?"

"You may do your homework," Aunt Petunia interjected, "as long as it's only written homework."

"Yes, yes," muttered Uncle Vernon, "and if anyone asks where you go to school, even Dudley, you tell them St. Cuthberts School for the Academically Mediocre. Dudley is never, ever, to hear of what you're actually doing. Do we have a deal?"  
At this point Harry considered it would probably be best to speak, and he answered in the affirmative. Uncle Vernon pressed the letter into Harry's hands and strode away to the bathroom. Harry heard the sink turn on the moment that Vernon entered, and the sound of the mustached man scrubbing furiously at his hands with soap soon followed. Aunt Petunia remained in the room, and Harry leapt on the chance to ask her the most important question of the entire enterprise. "Aunt Petunia," he asked nervously, "do you know how I should reply to the school? There's no address in the letter."

"Those people usually just tie their mail to the nearest owl, it seems," she said with a slight shudder, "but they do somehow know how our postal system works. You can just put 'Hogwarts School' on an envelope and they'll get it." Harry noticed the deepest look of sadness he'd seen yet cross his aunt's face as she divulged that piece of information, although he couldn't see why the wizarding postal service should affect her so greatly.

"Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he said softly, and went to write his letter.

In her office on the first floor of the Defence against the Dark Arts tower at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, on July 27th, Minerva McGonagall opened the letter that had arrived through the muggle post. It had taken a couple of days for the letter to make its way through the system into the Ministry of Magic's liason department, but from there it had quickly winged its way by owl mail to Hogwarts.

_Harry Potter_

_4, Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

_July 23, 2006_

_Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Dear Deputy Headmistress McGonagall,_

_I hope this letter reaches you. My aunt said it would if I wrote "Hogwarts School" on it._

_I'm really excited to start school, but my aunt and uncle don't exactly like magic. So I don't know where to go to get any of the supplies. Or how to get to school. Or anything really. Could you please send me some information? Also, I'm supposed to tell everyone, even my cousin Dudley, that I'm going to St. Cuthbert's School for the Academically Mediocre, so could you please send any more letters like they're from there instead. I'm sorry for the trouble._

_Thank you so much for the opportunity to go to Hogwarts, I can't wait!_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Harry Potter._

By the time she finished reading, tears were dripping onto the page. Harry was so much like Lily. And while it seemed her worst fears hadn't been realized, she stood by what she'd told Albus all those years ago. The Dursleys really were the worst kind of muggles. She gently tucked the letter back into its envelope and quickly changed into her best muggle outfit, an austere grey pantsuit, which, while a little dated in fashion, would blend in just fine in Little Whinging. She strode out of her office and within minutes was at in the dungeons, rapping her knuckles against a plain wooden door. Moments later, the hooked nose of Severus Snape poked out, sneer as permanently affixed below it as always. Minerva said nothing, merely handed him the letter. A few minutes later, Severus Snape was also dressed in a shabby suit, his late father's. The two professors set out towards the main gate of the castle.

* * *

Author's Note: Yes, the Dursleys are nicer to Harry than you might expect. But the reason for that is simple. The Dursleys never really disliked Harry, they disliked magic. And this Harry doesn't do as much accidental magic as canon Harry. So they treat him more as an unwanted guest than a house-squatting monster. It's also just a relief to Petunia to stop pretending.

As always, J.K. Rowling owns all recognizable stuff. Also shameless plug for my Forgotten Realms story, Thirdboy, and just for Forgotten Realms in general. If you've never read them, start with R.A. Salvatore's Homeland. It's an excellent book and fans of Harry Potter should love it.


	4. Diagon Alley

**Chapter 4: Diagon Alley**

It had been "St Cuthbert's" that really angered Minerva. Honestly, Lily Evans' child being academically mediocre? Preposterous in itself. And James Potter was no slouch himself, when he actually showed up to class. But what really irked the experienced professor was that these muggles clearly showed no love to Harry. They might not hate him, but no loving guardians would force a child to pretend to go to a school "for the Academically Mediocre."

As for Severus, the simple mention of Petunia knowing how to contact Hogwarts had stirred memories. As had the mention of her ongoing hatred of magic. Severus had known that Harry was being raised by the Dursleys, but after drifting apart from Lily during his fifth year, he had lost all touch with Petunia. He had assumed she had matured, got over her childish resentment, and would be raising Harry as her own. Apparently not. He worried for the child's treatment at this rate. He hoped nothing had been done that would endanger the vow which he had made to himself on Lily's death. Petunia could be cruel.

Severus Snape was an intelligent man, and he was under no illusions about his relationship with Lily Evans. Even without Potter, even without Voldemort, without Gryffindor and Slytherin, Lily Evans would never have loved Severus Snape. And his feelings towards Lily, especially in his desperate, hormonal OWL years, had been more of obsession than love. Severus Snape knew this. He'd had plenty of years for self-reflection. And yet Severus still loved Lily, and he had vowed to protect her son, even if he was Potter's son too. He had known that Harry would be attending Hogwarts this year, and prepared himself mentally. But then Minerva McGonagall had knocked unannounced on his door and handed him a letter, and all his preparation had gone out the window.

The two professors arrived with a sharp _crack_ on Wisteria Walk, and within moments were striding down Privet Drive. They arrived at Number Four, and Minerva raised her fist to rap on the front door, but Severus motioned patience, before pressing a discrete button on the side of the frame. A bell sounded inside the house, and moments later the door swung open.

Severus stared, unable for a moment to collect himself, occlumency training by the wayside. James Potter had just opened the door, looking exactly as he had all those years ago, that fateful September day that they had all started Hogwarts, himself, Lily, Potter and Black in a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. He shook his head to clear it. The glasses were different. More modern. Plastic frames instead of wire. The child was skinnier than Potter had been. This must be Harry. Severus noticed Minerva was speaking.

"...Professor McGonagall. I'm a teacher at St. Cuthberts," Severus heard her say as he tuned in to the conversation, "And this is Professor Snape. Is your Aunt Petunia available?" Moments later the nosy woman in question entered the hallway behind Harry, and Minerva greeted her, asking if she could have a word with Severus, and if it would be alright for them to take Harry for the day. Assent was quickly granted to the latter, but far more grudgingly to the former, and only because the stern Scottish professor showed no signs of wavering.

* * *

It felt like it had been so many days since he wrote the letter, though in reality it was only the third day today, when Harry woke up. He hoped that he would receive a reply soon. Only the sudden lack of "Stonewall High" jokes from Vernon and Dudley assured Harry that Hogwarts had been real at all. That and the letter. Harry must have read it a hundred times, and the parchment was beginning to wear thin along the creases from the number of foldings and unfoldings. He'd barely left the house, waiting impatiently each day for the mail to come and ensuring that he was the first to see it. So when the doorbell rang, Harry was first to the door as always. It was two people, a man and a woman, the man far younger, and seemingly somewhat dazed and confused. But the moment Harry heard the name McGonagall, a smile bloomed on his face. His aunt appeared within moments, and somehow Professor McGonagall managed to convince her to speak with Professor Snape. Harry was sure that his eyes must be deceiving him, but he could read his aunt well and he would have sworn that she recognized Professor Snape. He would file that away for later.

Later came almost immediately as he led Professor McGonagall up to his bedroom. After quickly looking around, and pulling out some outerclothes and a cap for Harry to wear, she asked him if he was okay, and if there were anything he would like to know about before they left to go shopping.

"I'm not sure I should ask any questions about _school_," Harry said, dropping his voice almost to a whisper as he said the word school, "while we're in the house. It's part of the agreement that I had to make with Uncle Vernon."  
"_Had_ to make?" the professor asked sharply, and Harry flinched. Her face softened as she noticed the reaction to her stern tone and she spoke again, gently this time. "Mr. Potter, you may feel free to tell me as much or as little as you like. But if you need me to have a conversation with your guardians about your treatment…" she trailed off, and Harry had a sense that his relatives would not enjoy that conversation.

"No, thank you, Professor," he replied. "That won't be necessary. They don't love me like they do Dudley, but they don't treat me badly. And I don't mind not talking about _it_ here, as long as I can go to school. But I do have one question. Do Aunt Petunia and Professor Snape know each other?"

The stern-looking older lady looked up sharply at that. "That, I think, is a question for another time. I cannot deny that they do, but the circumstances of their acquaintance are for Professor Snape or your Aunt Petunia to tell you at a time of their own choosing. I would ask that you not pressure them." With that the conversation ended, and Harry, mind whirring, changed his jacket and put on the cap, and they headed downstairs, where Professor Snape was waiting for them. Aunt Petunia had vanished.

* * *

A huge purple double-decker bus appeared from nowhere with a mighty _bang_ as Professor McGonagall raised her right arm into the street on Wisteria Walk. After recovering his balance from the shock, Harry looked around to see if any neighbors were poking their heads out of windows to observe the commotion, but it seemed as though nobody but the three magicals had noticed a thing. They climbed on board quickly, and Professor McGonagall paid the conductor for three tickets to the "Leaky Cauldron", whatever that was. Professor Snape hastened to his seat, and Harry did likewise, managing to sit down moments before the bus lurched into motion, spilling loose objects and liquids everywhere. The only thing on the entire bus seemingly unaffected was Professor McGonagall, who stepped gracefully to her own seat, not even a hair of her bun loose. Harry barely spoke or even managed to think, due to being thrown from place to place, barely resisting the urge to vomit.

The ride, however bumpy, was mercilessly short, and soon the two professors and Harry were stepping off the bus into a dingy pub. Harry's eyes widened as they entered. It was like entering a whole new world. A whole new _magical_ world. Gas lighting and candles replaced fluorescent lights, handcarved and stitched tables and chairs replaced mass-produced plastic furniture, and a fire flickered in a huge hearth, almost large enough for an adult to stand straight up in. But most amazing were the drinks pouring themselves at the bar, the dishrag wiping down tables under the guidance of an invisible hand, the parents entertaining their children with bubbles erupting from thin wooden sticks. This was nothing like Privet Drive any more. Little Whinging was long behind him now.

Harry followed Professor McGonagall through the poorly-lit pub and they exited through a side exit, coming face to face with a brick wall. Without a pause, the elder professor withdrew a short stick, which Harry assumed was a wand, from her sleeve, and tapped a brick, which suddenly became a hole in the wall. The hole expanded rapidly until there was no more wall left, just a bustling cobbled street with shops lining the sides as far as the eye could see.

"We'll go to Gringotts first," Professor McGonagall stated. "The bank. It's that large white building all the way at the end of the alley." She began to walk, and Harry followed her, head constantly swiveling to to take in as much of the strange sights as he could.

"Where are we?" He breathed, thinking out loud.

"Diagon Alley, Mr. Potter," came the curt, clipped reply from behind him. Harry jumped a little. Professor Snape was a little creepy. "One of four wizarding-only locations in all of Great Britain, the others being the Ministry of Magic, St. Mungos Hospital, and Hogwarts and its environs. Technically, we are still in London, though no muggle can get here."

"What's a muggle?" Harry asked, confused at the unfamiliar term.

"What's a muggle, Professor," Professor Snape replied curtly, and then continued to speak over Harry's muttered apology. "A muggle is a person incapable of doing magic, from a non-magical family. Those unfortunate souls who are born into a magical family and are yet incapable of magic are termed squibs." The male professor continued to lecture until all of a sudden they had arrived at Gringotts. Harry recognized the guards instantly. Hobgoblins, without a doubt, with their gleaming weapons and polished armor. Although shorter than he would have expected. But the true surprise was inside, where more of these goblinoids stood, behind counters, dressed in suits. Goblin bankers of all things! The more of the magical world Harry saw, the more amazed he was that he'd managed to cast two spells with _Dungeons and Dragons_ as his guide. After waiting in line for a moment, which Harry used to observe the marble pillars and ceiling and the ornate chandeliers, they were called up to a wooden teller's desk. "Good Morning," Professor McGonagall spoke cooly, "I have Harry Potter with me to access his vault."  
"I have a vault? whispered Harry, impressed.

"Key?" questioned the goblin, clearly unimpressed.

"I don't have it on me," McGonagall replied, unruffled, "But I do have Mr. Potter, so unless you would like too floo call Headmaster Dumbledore to get the key, I suggest we get going."

Professor Snape seemed to grow in stature, and the glare that Harry assumed was the man's only expression grew even deeper, if such a thing was possible.

It was eerily similar to what had happened with Aunt Petunia, and within moments the goblin backed down and nodded his acceptance. "Bogrod!" he called, and another goblin hastened up alongside the desk. "Potter, Vault 684," the original goblin snapped, and the goblin addressed as Bogrod led the party of humans back into the bank, and seated them in what seemed to be a mine cart.

The cart ride was quick, though uncomfortable, and the Professors helped Harry shovel a reasonable quantity of coins from the large mounds into a bag, before the cart took off again, releasing them into the above ground portion of the bank. From there the group quickly shopped for everything on the supply list except for schoolbooks and Harry's wand, Professor Snape keeping up a constant commentary in his deep monotone of necessary information to understand the magical world. Harry supposed he was grateful for this, though it rather dimmed the pleasure and the wonder, and he already couldn't remember how many Knuts were in a Sickle, or Sickles in a Galleon. All in all, he was quite relieved when Professor McGonagall announced that the would stop for a break, and even more excited to find that it would be in an ice cream parlor. The sign above the parlor read _Florean Fortescue's_, and it was with great excitement that Harry entered. He had money now, which meant that he could have whatever he wanted, and there were no Dursleys to stop him. He ordered the largest strawberry sundae he could see, and got all the toppings. When he went to pay, however, yet another strange thing happened. As he waited, he took off his hat and ran his hand through his hair to itch his scalp, before putting the cap back on. But in that moment the wizard behind the counter looked his way, and stared at him as if he were a zoo animal. When Harry went to hand over his money, the wizard finally recovered from the shock, but instead of taking the money he just shook Harry's hand and repeated "Thank you, thank you," before pressing the strawberry sundae into Harry's other hand and waving him away.

Professor McGonagall soon joined him at a table, with a cup of tea and plenty of milk, and Professor Snape a moment later with a black coffee. Harry didn't waste a moment to describe what had happened, before asking if they knew what it was all about. To his surprise, Professor Snape, who had thus far done the bulk of the explanations, remained silent.

"This may be somewhat of a shock to you Harry," Professor McGonagall answered after a moment, "But you are somewhat of a hero in our world. And eleven year old boys with a lightning bolt scar on their foreheads are uncommon enough as to be noticeable. How much has your aunt told you about your parents?"  
"Barely anything," Harry replied sourly. "Just that my mother was the first witch in the family, and that she went to Hogwarts."  
"I see," McGonagall continued. "Well, James and Lily Potter were excellent students, Head Boy and Girl at Hogwarts in their time." Harry's heart leapt. He was finally learning something about his family, and his parents were parents to be proud of! "Around the time at which they graduated, a dark wizard named Lord Voldemort,"  
"The Dark Lord, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, You-Know-Who," Interjected Professor Snape,

"Yes, Lord Voldemort. Many were too frightened to say the name, so they used other terms. He began a war against the Ministry of Magic, against muggles, and against muggle-born wizards. Your parents joined the war to fight against him, and they helped us to turn the tide. But when you were just a year old, he came to your house on Halloween and slew James and Lily. But when he tried to use the killing curse on you, just a little baby, it rebounded. It gave you that scar, but you are the only known person to survive it. And Lord Voldemort was destroyed, though he may not be fully dead." Harry didn't like the sound of that. How could someone be not fully dead. Sounded like a lich. And liches were _bad news._ "So now you are a hero in our world, for defeating the most powerful Dark Wizard of our time. Some call you the Boy-Who-Lived."

"Try not to let it go to your head, Potter," Professor Snape interjected again. "I hardly imagine you defeated him by skill." The sneer was back, if it had ever left. Harry decided he didn't really like Professor Snape, though the man didn't seem _too _bad.

Harry asked a few more questions, and received varying qualities of answers from the two professors, but soon they resumed shopping. First, they visited _Flourish and Blotts_. Harry kept his cap firmly on and his head low, especially when older children greeted Professor McGonagall from time to time. He noticed none of them greeted Professor Snape. Maybe the younger professor was new. It could be his first year, Harry supposed. In the bookstore Harry quickly found his required texts on the First Year display, then disappeared into the aisles to look for more interesting books. Soon he had a variety of histories, spellbooks promising easy but practical spells, and books on basic magical theory, including runes and arithmancy. Before long though, he was hurried out of the shop and across the way into a dusty little store, _Ollivanders_.

* * *

"Curious, very curious," Mr. Ollivander said. It had taken over thirty different wands, and tape measures in a variety of uncomfortable places, but finally one of the wands that the old man had proffered to Harry had had a reaction. A deluge of sparks had poured out, and Harry had felt the slight tug of magic through his arm as it happened, just like when he would cast one of his cantrips.

"What's curious?" he asked. Was holly and phoenix feather not a usual combination? The wizened wandmaker had announced it just like any other before he handed it over.

"Why, that wand, it shares a core with another, a feather from the same phoenix. And its brother cast the curse that gave you that scar." Harry shuddered. Not enough to be famous for having his parents killed by a possible lich, but he had basically the same wand as the Dark Lord? Why did the universe hate him? He barely listened to the rest of what Mr. Ollivander said as he paid the man and left the store. He noticed Professor Snape stayed behind, maybe the man needed a new wand? But Harry followed Professor McGonagall, until she came to a stop inside _Eeylop's Owl Emporium_. "Pick one," she said, "It's a birthday present for you. And it'll help you contact me or Professor Snape if you need to. You can just give the owl a letter and it'll know what to do."  
"I shouldn't, Professor, my family won't like it,"

"All taken care of, Mr. Potter, don't worry. Professor Snape made sure your aunt understands the situation." At that moment a snowy white owl swooped down and came to rest perched on Harry's shoulder. He grinned.

"I guess the owl also chooses the wizard, Professor."

* * *

Harry didn't see Professor Snape again, and he and Professor McGonagall soon returned by another whirlwind trip on the Knight Bus to Privet Drive. Professor McGonagall handed him his trunk with all his new belongings, the cage for his snowy white owl, and an envelope containing a ticket for the Hogwarts Express, along with specific instructions for how to get onto the train. Then with a _pop_, she was gone, and Harry was left alone to make his way back into Number Four.

* * *

**Athr's Nte**: Al rcgnzble J.K. Rwlng. Evrtng els mne. Shmless plg Thirdboy. Its bttr stry thn ths hnestly.


	5. The Hogwarts Express

**Chapter 5: The Hogwarts Express**

After the visit of the two professors, the Dursleys acted much as if Harry didn't exist. He didn't have to do chores, and he was allowed to attend meals, but for the most part they didn't speak to him, and he didn't speak to them. He passed his time reading his schoolbooks, although both Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape had made it clear that he was not to use his wand outside of school. He also visited the library from time to time, and had started to pick up a fondness for fantasy fiction. As he had far better material to study magic from now, he could finally enjoy the stories on their own merits, and he had begun to really enjoy the genre.

September came around soon enough, and a reminder to Uncle Vernon the day before saw Harry given a ride into London to King's Cross station on September 1. He arrived with time to spare and easily located the portal to the station, a brick barrier between platforms 9 and 10. Professor McGonagall had advised him to lean on the wall so as to avoid attracting attention, so Harry did so, leaning against the wall, trunk in hand. His owl, who he had named Arwen, had flown ahead to the castle, so as not to attract attention or annoy Vernon on the drive.

As he fell through the purportedly solid wall, Harry found himself in another world. Once again the technology of the twenty-first century was replaced by that of the eighteenth, as steam billowed over the platform from a scarlet engine. The gold lettering on the side read _The Hogwarts Express_. Harry grinned. He was off to learn magic, and find something more to life than living at the Dursleys'. He dragged his trunk aboard the train, and bypassed the more full compartments, or those with older students, until he came to one that seemed just right. He slid open the door and dragged his trunk in.

The girl in the corner of the apartment looked up from her book. _Hogwarts: A History_. Harry recognized the cover. He'd skimmed the book and learned just enough to be somewhat prepared. He knew what the four houses were at least. The girl looked at him from beneath bushy brown hair and smiled nervously, seemingly keen to make a good first impression. "Good morning," she said, "I'm Hermione Granger. It's my first year. Is it your first year too?"  
Harry nodded. This was a good start, he supposed, better than children not talking to him because they were scared of Dudley. "I'm Harry Potter," he replied. "It's my first year too."

"I've read all about you," Hermione gasped, "You're famous! You're in _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts…_" she trailed off as her brain caught up with her mouth, and she noticed Harry blush and his shoulders droop, "but, uh, it's nice to meet you," she concluded lamely, "do you think we could be friends?"

"I suppose we could," Harry replied. "Do you think you could help me with my trunk?" And together the two first years lifted the big wooden trunk onto the overhead railings.

* * *

They sat and talked for a few minutes, and then another boy entered the compartment, pudgy, with dark hair, though not as dark as Harry's. "Hu-hullo," he stammered, "Do you mind if I sit here?"

"Of course not!" Hermione babbled, before Harry had time to think. "Sit down, sit down! Are you a first year too? I'm Hermione Granger, and this is Harry Potter. Would you like to be friends? Have you read _Hogwarts: A History?_ I'm reading it for the fourth time already, I wouldn't want to miss anything, you know?" She suddenly realized she'd been babbling and the bushy-haired girl snapped her mouth closed, and wide-eyed gestured at Harry to say something.

"Oh, uh, hi, I'm Harry."  
"I'm Neville. I, uh, I don't remember all your questions, sorry," he said, blushing a furious red, "but I'm a first year, just like you." He made no mention of Harry's fame, for which Harry was very grateful. He'd only had two encounters with his fame so far, and he didn't enjoy it at all. Eventually the three of them started talking, but Neville soon became bored as the conversation turned to spells, and left the compartment to go to the bathroom. Neither Harry nor Hermione really noticed that he didn't come back.

* * *

"So watch this," Harry said, and pulled out his very dead and dessicated firefly. Hermione looked on dubiously. What was it with boys and dead insects? "_Light_". All of a sudden the firefly glowed with the light of a tiny sun.

"How did you do that?" Hermione gasped, appalled. "_The Standard Book of Spells: Grade One_ gives the incantation as _Lumos_. And you have to have a wand! And make a jabbing motion."

"I don't know," replied Harry. "I was hoping you could help me. It sounds like you know all the books way better than I do! But I learned this ages ago, because I was trying to control my magic. At first it only worked when I was desperate, but now I can do it whenever, as long as I have my firefly."

Hermione could only look on, bewildered. "Maybe there's a book about it in the Hogwarts library. It says in _Hogwarts: A History_, that the library at Hogwarts is one of the best in Europe. In fact…"

* * *

It didn't take long for Harry and Hermione to become real friends, of a sort, and they talked about magic and spells and Hogwarts houses and professors for hours. Harry told her about Snape and McGonagall, and she told him about Sprout. Harry wanted to go to Gryffindor, to learn how to be as brave as Godric, and because Professor McGonagall had told him that it had been his parents' house. Hermione agreed on Gryffindor, but because it was the house of Albus Dumbledore, the Headmaster and "the absolute most amazing wizard of our time, Harry!" A witch came around selling a variety of amazing wizarding treats, and Harry bought two of each, although Hermione turned down the offer of anything obviously containing sugar, due to her parents' profession as dentists. From time to time the conversation would dwindle and Hermione would pull out one of a seemingly never ending list of books, and Harry would look out the clear glass of the compartment door, never ceasing to be surprised by the strange types he saw go past. Two identical ginger boys, what were the odds of that? And a tiny blonde-haired boy with cultured elegance and a sneer far surpassing anything Dudley could muster, flanked by two boys of a size far surpassing Dudley's, another surprise to Harry. Three girls with scarlet ties throwing a strange leather ball between them as they ran down the hall. Harry had been prepared for magic, and yet still nothing _this_ strange.

Eventually the train stopped at the station, and they disembarked, out into the evening sky.

Harry and Hermione walked together towards the booming sound of "Firs' years, over 'ere," and were greeted with the sight of the largest man they'd ever seen. Upon spotting Harry, he paused in his task of loading first-years into small coracles, and strode towards him. "Harry!" he boomed. Harry steeled himself, and considered running, but decided on bravery instead. He began to prepare _Ray of Frost_, though he still couldn't do it every time. "I haven't seen ye since ye were a baby," the huge man continued, "I knew James an' Lily o' course," he continued, "shame tha', a real shame. Oh! I'm Rubeus Hagrid, but ye can jest call me Hagrid." Harry relaxed slightly, though he wasn't fully comfortable with this giant of a man. But 'Hagrid' had known his parents, and wasn't interested in Harry's fame, so that was good enough for now.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Hagrid," he replied politely. "This is my friend Hermione Granger," and here he indicated Hermione, "should we be getting into these boats?" The big man nodded, "Nice to meet ye, Miss 'Ermione. Tha's right, let's get ye aboard. Pr'fessor McGonagall'll be waitin'." They boarded a boat, and Hagrid took up the other two seats was all the other first years were aboard coracles of their own. "To Hogwarts," the big man intoned, and, as if by magic, the tiny fleet set off at steady speed across the lake.

Gasps came from all around as the clouds peeled back from the sky, and the moon for the first time illuminated the castle of Hogwarts. Great stone towers, four in all, pierced the sky, reaching as if to the heavens. A huge gate surmounted a great staircase, sized for a dozen or more to walk comfortably abreast. The roofs of the halls reached up in perfect ratio to the walls beneath, and gargoyles decorated the battlements and masonry in lifelike fashion. Even to those accustomed to great architecture, Hogwarts Castle was in a class all of its own, superior in every facet. To Harry and Hermione, it truly was magical.

* * *

Author's Note: JK Rowling etc. Thirdboy etc. One more chapter of exposition, and then we will start having real adventures. But Harry is still only 11.


	6. Sorting

**Chapter 6: Sorting**

It didn't take long for the group of first years to huddle inside, where they were met by Professor McGonagall. She greeted them briefly and explained the Sorting, though Harry had already heard enough from Professor Snape and from reading _Hogwarts: A History_, to have a general idea of what was going to happen. What he didn't know, however, was how students were sorted, and from the muttering going on between the other first years, neither did they. He heard something about fighting a troll, and snorted. Hadn't they read _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them_? Fighting a troll? Really? Although, he mused, looking around, there were a couple of boys over there who looked like they could be trolls. Looked kind of like Dudley honestly. Whichever house they were going in, Harry wanted not that one.

Hermione gave a yelp, which pulled Harry's attention away from observing his yearmates and towards a group of pale, pearlescent _people_ gliding across the room. Huh, ghosts. Also in _Hogwarts: A History_. The girl had read it how many times and she was surprised by ghosts? Harry sighed deeply, and was very grateful to see Professor McGonagall return, talking over one of the ghosts trying to convince them to join his former house, Hufflepuff. Well, Harry wasn't going there. He hoped the ghost wouldn't be too disappointed. "Come along children," Professor McGonagall instructed in her curt tone, and the first years huddled through great double doors into a huge hall, open to the night sky outside. This time the gasps were even louder, and Harry noticed his own among them. He had known he would see this, and yet it still awed him upon his first actual sight. Hermione tugged on his sleeve to get his attention, and started to talk animatedly, "It's enchanted to look like the sky outside," she told him, "I read about it in…"

"_Hogwarts: A History_," Harry finished for her. He smiled gently. "I know, so did I. Isn't it amazing?"  
Hermione had no chance to reply, as Professor McGonagall began to speak. "Welcome, First Years," she spoke in a loud, clear voice. "We will now begin the Sorting. When I call your name, you will approach, and put on the Sorting Hat," at which she gestured to a ragged, torn wizard's hat sitting on a three legged wooden stool at her side, "which will tell you your house. But first, as is tradition, the Sorting Hat has prepared for us a song."  
"Is she having a laugh?" Harry muttered to Hermione, moments before a tear opened up just above the brim of the hat, and it did indeed begin to sing. Harry tried to tune it out, as it was not particularly pleasant sounding, or in any particular key, though he did notice it seemed to be attempting to rhyme, though poorly. He barely focused enough to get a general grasp that it was telling them about the characteristics of the four houses, and joined in enthusiastically to the applause when the hat was finally finished.

"Abbot, Hannah," McGonagall called. A plump girl with blonde pigtails hurried up to the stool, and put the hat on her head before sitting down. Harry watched closely. Nothing happened. He watched more closely. Still nothing.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" the hat yelled, and Abbot, Hannah, whipped the hat off her head, put it back down on the stool, and hurried over to the table full of students wearing black and gold, who cheered and clapped enthusiastically. At least that ghost would be happy, Harry thought.

"Bones, Susan."

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Boot, Terry."  
"RAVENCLAW."

On and on it went, each house cheering for its own selections.

"Crabbe, Vincent," called Professor McGonagall, and Harry watched the first of the troll-boys shuffle up to the stool. It didn't take long before "SLYTHERIN!" was called.

"Ravenclaw or Gryffindor, then, I guess," he muttered to Hermione, who looked at him and smiled. "Me too," she replied.

Before long it was Hermione's turn, and she paled. Harry grabbed her hand and squeezed, and the bushy-haired witch blushed a furious red before rushing up to the stool. Harry watched closely again. Nothing. Still nothing. More nothing. Was Hermione _arguing _with the hat? Maybe Harry would need to try that. Especially if it tried to put him in Slytherin. Troll-boy number two had gone there as well. Harry had given up trying to learn names at this point, there were too many of them anyway. Eventually the hat called out "GRYFFINDOR!" and Hermione stepped up, beaming, and hurried over to the Gryffindor table, seating herself next to a tall boy whose ginger hair clashed horribly with the red and gold theme of the table.

It wasn't long until Harry began to get nervous. It started when they hit "P" with "Patil," then another "Patil," and Harry knew he would be soon. He wasn't worried his name wouldn't be called, he was a wizard after all. But he was worried that he would end up in Slytherin. He wanted to be as far away from people like his relatives, and he was sure brutish, greedy Uncle Vernon and status-obsessed Aunt Petunia would have been there. Although Professor Snape, while frightening, was also a Slytherin, and he hadn't seemed too bad. Still, the troll twins alone were enough.

"Perks, Sally-Anne," became a Hufflepuff, and then, "Potter, Harry."

The whole Great Hall went silent for one short moment, and then erupted into whispers. "Did she say Potter?" "_The_ Harry Potter?" "You don't know who Harry Potter is?" "He's our age?" and more assailed Harry's ears as he forced one foot in front of the other towards the stool. He hadn't realized what his fame would mean until now. Numbly he picked up the Sorting Hat and raised it onto his head as he sat on the stool.

"Hmm," said a small voice, seeming to come almost from inside his head, "Now what shall I do with you?" Harry almost got up and bolted, before realizing that it was the hat speaking. Interesting piece of magic, that. "Decent mind you've got there, but you only use it when you have to. Could work on that though. Plenty of raw ability. Hmm. Oh yes, you want to be the best, don't you. And to achieve your goals, I see that, but bravery too, when there's no other option. But it's not brave to be foolish anyway, is it. Well, what a challenge. Not often I get one as tough as this. But you're not here to chat with an old hat all day, are you. So, where to put you? Slytherin? Or Gryffindor?"

Harry remembered Hermione's argument with the hat, and how happy she'd looked to end up going to Gryffindor.

"Not Slytherin," he thought as hard as he could at the hat. "I'll take Ravenclaw if you want, but not Slytherin."

"Are you sure?" the hat asked. "You could be great in Slytherin…"  
"I don't want to be great, I want to be free, and happy, and not surrounded by miniature trolls," Harry shot back. He could have sworn he heard a sigh from inside his own head.

"Well if you're sure… Better be "GRYFFINDOR!""

Within moments the hat was back on the stool and Harry was racing towards the Gryffindor table, before the hat could change its mind. The Great Hall erupted with noise, as the Gryffindor table began a chant of "We got Potter!", the Slytherin table booed, and the other two tables whispered between them at a near deafening level. Harry just hopped onto a seat next to Hermione and the tall red-headed boy and tried to be as unnoticeable as possible.

Professor McGonagall quickly moved on, and the boy next to him turned and proffered a hand, which Harry shook. "Pleasure to meet you," the red-head said pompously, "I'm Percy Weasley, Gryffindor prefect. Do come to me if you need anything at all. Oh, excuse me," he interrupted himself, "I must watch this one, it's my brother." Harry watched as a freckled ginger boy walked up to the stool and put on the hat. Barely a moment later came the hat's decision, "GRYFFINDOR!"

"Excellent," cried Percy Weasley. "Well done Ron! That's all us Weasleys in Gryffindor now!"  
"All of you?" Hermione asked from Harry's other side. "How many of you are there?"

Percy pointed down the table to two identical boys, also gingers, "That's Fred and George, my younger brothers, and then Bill and Charlie already graduated. That's just us boys, we've got a sister at home, she'll be coming next year and that'll be all of us."  
"Wow," said Harry. "It's just me and Dudley at home, and I'm not even supposed to be there." Hermione frowned.

"It's just me at my house," she added. "It must be amazing to have so many siblings."

Just then, the sorting finished with "Zabini, Blaise" headed to Slytherin, and Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat. "Welcome, welcome," the man said. Harry thought the man must have the longest, whitest beard he'd ever seen. He wondered if Professor Dumbledore was Gandalf. He nudged Percy. "How old is Professor Dumbledore?" he whispered. Of course, it was Hermione who knew the answer. "He's just over a hundred years old," she whipered back. And then, as if she had read his mind, "Probably too young to have been the inspiration for Gandalf."

"Gandalf?" Percy asked, but at that moment food appeared out of thin air on the long tables, and questions were forgotten.

* * *

As the meal began to slow down the pupils began to talk between themselves, the older students talking to their friends about their summers, and the younger ones mostly talking between themselves. Harry tuned out Hermione as she began to grill Percy about lessons, and turned his attention further down the table, where Percy's brother Ron had just finished telling the other boys about his family. "Me mam's a witch, but me da's a muggle," spoke an Irish boy, Seamus, "He didn' believe her the first time she told him, not until she turned his trousers into a tarantula. He listened after that though. I can't wait to learn that." Harry noticed both Ron and Neville go pale at that statement. He grinned at the chubby boy, who smiled back shyly. Gryffindor seemed like an odd choice for Neville. He wondered if the Sorting Hat actually just placed you wherever you asked to go, and was incapable of making its own choices. Either way, he thought, as muggle-born Dean Thomas introduced himself, it didn't really matter. He was where he wanted to be. He put another slice of treacle tart on his plate. He'd had to ask Percy what the delicious dessert was, but having had one slice, Harry had gone back for a second and a third. As he ate, Professor Dumbledore stood again, and the Great Hall went quiet.

"Excellent," said the old man. "Now we can truly welcome you back to Hogwarts, and for our first-years, welcome also. I am so happy to see you back here. A few quick announcements, and then I'll let you pop off to bed. Firstly, let us all welcome Professor Quirrell, who will be our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. At the Head Table a short man in a turban waved hesitantly. Polite applause rang around the room. Harry locked eyes for a moment with Professor Snape, sitting next to Quirrell, and then looked away. "Thank you, thank you," said Professor Dumbledore, quieting the room. "Mr Filch would like me to remind you that the Forbidden Forest on the grounds is indeed eponymous, and therefore forbidden. I advise you also to peruse at your leisure the list of banned items affixed to the door of Mr. Filch's office. I believe we are now close to five hundred, and I should not wish any of you to get in trouble." Harry could have sworn that the headmaster looked directly at Percy's younger brothers as he said this. "Finally, the third-floor corridor is closed on the right-hand side. Please do not enter unless you wish to at the very least see our school nurse, Madam Pomfrey." Harry shook his head. He felt a strange surge of recklessness. The hat had put him in Gryffindor after all. Harry Potter was going to find out what was in that corridor. "With that," the headmaster finished, "It is time to sing the school song." And with a wave of his wand, words appeared as ribbons, twisting in the air. The older years had clearly done this before, and within moments the entire school was singing, to hundreds of different tunes.

* * *

By the time they made it to the Gryffindor dormitories, Harry was exhausted. He climbed the stairs slowly and found his trunk at the foot of a huge four-poster bed, on the end of the room furthest from the bathroom. He slid quickly under the covers, ignoring Ron, Dean, Seamus, and Neville, and closed the hangings. Quickly he stripped off his robes, laid down his pointed hat, and placed his wand on the bedside table, right next to an analogue alarm clock, which seemed to have already been set. This was much nicer than Privet Drive, Harry thought, and fell asleep within moments.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading, as usual J.K. Rowling etc. and all else mine blah blah. Also as usual go read my other story, _Thirdboy_ or I'll, I'll, I don't know, I'll do something.


	7. Seeker

**Chapter 7: Seeker**

Harry woke to the early morning light illuminating the hangings of his new four-poster bed. He took a moment to revel in the complete lack of responsibilities for the day, and then fell right back asleep. Before too long though, hushed whispering awakened him.

"It's a little weird though, spending the whole night talking to a Prefect and a _girl_, isn't it?" Harry heard one of his roommates say, though he couldn't place the voice, "And it's not even like my brother's interesting, so why's he talking to him?" Ah, Ron. Percy's younger brother, the last one to have been sorted into Gryffindor. Then it clicked, and Harry felt sick to the stomach. They were talking about him. And it wasn't complimentary.

"I don't know," replied an Irish voice, "he doesn't seem that bad, so what if he's talking to the people sitting next to him? Let's at least talk to him later, see what he's all about." That hardly seemed better to Harry, but it was far better than the Dursleys ignoring him. Harry forced his head deeper into his pillow, and for the second time that day, went back to sleep.

When Harry woke up the third time, it was to his hangings being pulled away and bushy brown hair entered his swimming vision. "Good Morning Harry," said Hermione, "I was worried when you didn't come to breakfast, and I waited and waited but you still didn't come down, so I asked Percy and he said it was alright if I came up here, so here I am. Breakfast has been open since eight, but it's closing at ten-thirty, and you're about to miss it." All these words were babbled out in seconds, and Harry just grunted acknowledgment, before shoving his head back into his pillow again. It wouldn't be the first time he'd missed a meal.

* * *

In the end, Harry did wake up in time to make a late appearance at lunch. It was a Saturday, and summer wasn't yet over, so most people were outside, enjoying the free time before term began in earnest. Harry scarfed down a couple of sandwiches, some chicken, and some pumpkin juice, before looking for something to do.

There was nobody at all at the Gryffindor table, and no professors at the head table either, just Hagrid, who Harry had met the previous night. So for lack of anything else to do, Harry walked up to the head table and greeted the gamekeeper. "Good afternoon Mr. Hagrid," Harry said, "Where is everyone?"

"Ah, Harry, good to see ye," replied Hagrid. "I'm so gla' yer a Gryffindor, it was my house ye know," he added, sticking his chest out proudly. "Er, afore I got expelled that is."  
"Expelled?" asked Harry, shocked. The cheery gamekeeper hardly seemed the type to be expelled.

"Ah, jest a little misunderstandin' don't ye worry. Dumbledore looked after me, let me stay here, gave me a job. Great man, Dumbledore." That seemed a little strange to Harry. Surely a great man could have cleared up a little misunderstanding. However, Harry knew what it was like for teachers to get the wrong impression of you, so he sympathized with Hagrid.

"Anyway, I shouldn' be keepin' ye on a nice day like this. All the other Gryffindors are down by the Quidditch pitch watching the try-outs. He's a right keen one that Ollie Wood, already out there on the second day of term. Go on now, I'll send you an owl later, invite you fer tea or summat." Harry thanked Hagrid and made his way outside, walking slowly towards the Quidditch pitch. He tried to remember what he'd read in the books he'd picked up, but none of them seemed to actually explain the _rules _of Quidditch, it seemed that the authors merely assumed that the reader would know. But broomsticks, quaffle, bludgers and snitch, Harry had picked up on.

He made it to the pitch a few minutes later and picked out his roommates in the stands. Dean, Seamus, and Ron were crowded together hanging over the railing, cheering and shouting as the players whipped by, robes snapping with the speed of the flight. Lavender and Parvati sat a few rows back, glancing between the action, their magazines, and each other, and Neville sat another two rows behind that, trying not to look. Harry sighed. Kids like Neville got bullied even worse than he did. "Not my problem," he muttered to himself. "I've got Dudley and Uncle Vernon to deal with. Keep my head down, learn how to do magic. Easy." And so Harry walked up to stand next to Seamus, and started listening to the conversation the boys were having.

Seamus and Dean had barely finished pointing out the players already on the team when the captain himself, Oliver Wood, flew over to their part of the stand. "Firsties," he barked, "Down on the pitch, now!" Shocked, Harry didn't hesitate, and hurried down the stairs. The rest followed, though Neville seemed to have to decide if he was more scared of going on the pitch or of Oliver Wood.

Once they made it down, Wood pointed to a set of brooms lying on the grass. "Listen up! There's not a single person in all the years above you capable of playing Seeker better than an emu, let alone like Charlie Weasley," at this statement six heads swiveled to look at Ron, who flushed, "so you're up! Stand by a broom and say 'Up!' And say it like you mean it, firsties!"

They hastened to follow Wood's instruction. Ron and Seamus stepped across quickly, followed shortly by Parvati and Dean. Lavender looked for a second like she wanted to argue, but instead gave a shrug and walked to stand next to a broom. Harry went as well. Ron's broom was already in his hand, after three tries, by the time Harry made it to his own. But the moment Harry reached out his hand and said "Up!" the wood of the broom impacted to his hand, sending a tingle all the way up through his arm. Neville was still shuffling towards his own.

"Enough time wasting!" Oliver barked. "Weasley, Potter, you," and here he pointed at Seamus, also now holding his broom, "Mount up, two laps around the field, go!" Within moments, Seamus and Ron were on their brooms and speeding away. Harry looked at Oliver, who stared back. "Don't tell me after that. No way. You've never been on a broom? And it just leapt into your hands? Look Potter, just leg over, push off, you'll figure it out. Now go!" With no time to think about it, Harry did exactly as Wood said, and within moments he was zooming above the pitch, hurtling towards the goalposts at the far end. As the wind pushed back his hair, he let out a whoop. Now this was magic! Thoughts of the Dursleys were far from Harry's mind as he weaved between the goalposts, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and urged greater and greater speed from his broom. Within moments he was lined up behind Seamus, and moments later zipped past below the Irish boy, before raising back up to the level at which Ron was flying, speeding around the ginger on his way into the final lap. Before long Harry had completed his two laps and landed next to Wood and the others, breathing heavily. "That was… fantastic," he said. "Can I go again?"  
"Hold on, Potter," said Wood, fighting back a grin, "Let's wait for the others. Was that seriously you're first time on a broom?" Harry nodded. "I grew up with Muggles," he said, and then was interrupted by Ron landing next to him.

"How come he gets the faster broom?" whined Ron, "I can't keep up with that speed!" Oliver just held out his hands for both brooms, which the boys gave him, then pointed the nameplates on the handles towards Ron. The first, Harry's, read _Cleansweep 3_. The second read _Cleansweep 4_. "Still want to swap?" Oliver asked. Ron flushed red again and shook his head. Oliver grinned and handed back the brooms.

Eventually Seamus landed and Oliver strode over to a case of equipment, before pulling out a large brown sack, stuffed to brimming. He straddled his broom and rose quickly into the air, gesturing to the three first-years to join him. Harry, Seamus, and Ron did so eagerly. Oliver opened the bag and pulled out a golf ball, and without a moment's hesitation threw it straight at Seamus. The Irish boy's eyes widened but the ball was already past him and on its way to the ground below by the time he reached out to grab at it. With barely a moment of warning Wood threw another ball at Ron, and then one at Harry. Balancing his weight over the center of the broom, Harry stretched out and easily snagged the little white ball, and tossed it back to Oliver. The older boy caught it and grinned. Ron had also caught his, though less gracefully, and tossed his back to Wood as well. Wood turned his broom and spoke to Seamus as quickly, and the boy's expression saddened, though he grinned at whatever Oliver said last, before Seamus flew back down to the ground. Oliver urged his broom over to the two remaining boys. "Alright," he said, "Potter, Weasley, clearly you can both fly. Now seeking is a mental game, it's win or lose, catch the snitch or die trying, beat the other Seeker at all costs. You may sleep in the same dormitory, but today it's you against him. I've got twenty-two balls left in this bag. Whoever catches more of them gets the position. Understood?" Harry and Ron both nodded.

In a blur, it was over. Harry lost track of how many dives he made, how many balls he caught, but at the end his robe pockets were heavy with golf balls, while Ron had only two to return to Oliver. Oliver congratulated both of them and told them to head back inside, but as they walked back to the castle, he called out to Harry one last time. "Potter! Six o'clock tomorrow morning! Be here!" Harry grinned.

* * *

Harry barely saw Ron for the rest of the day, the ginger boy seeming to avoid the rest of the Gryffindor first-years, even at dinner, where Harry sat between Hermione and Neville, with Percy on Hermione's other side. Hermione's chosen topic to grill the Gryffindor prefect with at this meal was Transfiguration, and Harry frowned as Hermione tried to describe atoms to an apparently ignorant Percy. All was clearly not as it seemed in the magical world. They could turn tables into tortoises, but they didn't know that atoms made up tables _and_ tortoises? Very strange. He turned to his steak and potatoes and tuned them out. It seemed he had barely moments alone with his food before he felt a tap on his shoulder. In his peripheral vision he noticed Neville go pale and he heard a sharp intake of breath from Hermione. Slowly, Harry turned to look. 'Great,' he thought to himself, 'The two mini-trolls. And I suppose this is their handler?'

The handler, a pale, blond boy, with hair as pristinely neat as Harry's was untidy, spoke in a cultured drawl. "Pleased to meet you, Potter. I'm Draco Malfoy." He spoke the name as though it should mean something to Harry, who just looked at the boy blankly. Harry could feel the tension rising at the Gryffindor table as more and more Gryffindors noticed the Slytherin standing by their table, talking to one of their first years.

"Uh, yes," Harry responded, uncomfortable with all the eyes on him. "Can I help you?"

Malfoy grimaced, and then spoke slower, as if to a simpleton. The mini-trolls loomed, cracking their knuckles. "I'm Draco _Malfoy_. That name means something in this world. I could be a very beneficial ally to you, Potter. Help you find the right kind of friends." Malfoy cast a disparaging glance around the Gryffindor table. "Although you might have to get away from this entire side of the room."

Harry continued to stare blankly at Malfoy, then spoke quietly. "No thanks."

Malfoy opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Professor McGonagall sweeping down from the head table. "Back to your table, Mr. Malfoy," she commanded, "The meal's almost over. I'm sure you can make friends with Mr. Potter another time." And with that, Malfoy and the mini-trolls strode back towards the Slytherin table, allowing Harry to finally turn back to his meal. Before too long, as Professor McGonagall had stated, the meal finished, and the Gryffindor students began to disperse, either outside to make the most of the fading daylight, or back to the Common Room. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand before he could get up to follow, frowning as he pulled his hand quickly away. "Would you like to come to the library with me? I've got a whole list of books I want to read, there's so much more here than I had time to look at in _Flourish and Blotts_, and it would be nice to have some company." She lowered her voice. "I don't think Lavender and Parvati like me very much," she admitted. "Neither of them wanted to talk about magic this morning, just their magazines and Quidditch practice. Will you please come with me?" Harry sighed, and decided to take the path of least resistance.

"Sure, Hermione," he said, and Harry followed Hermione towards the library. He hadn't had the chance to explore the castle yet, so he noted landmarks and interesting tapestries as they made their way over. Eventually they arrived and Hermione went straight to a stack of books next to a window overlooking the grounds. Harry drifted off into the stacks to find something to read while he sat with Hermione. He poked through the stacks, irked by the seeming lack of a filing system. While the books were certainly organized in some way by topic and author, it wasn't obvious how, and it certainly was nothing so simple as any normal public library. He sighed and kept looking, eventually deciding on a book about dragons. He slid it off the shelf and went over to sit with Hermione, flipping it open to the first picture page, a majestic Antipodean Opaleye.

They sat there in silence for a few minutes, each reading their own book, when Hermione finally spoke. "Do you think we're going to be okay? Everyone here seems to be so, so unconcerned by magic. Even Percy, and he's a Prefect. But magic doesn't make sense! I know we can do it, I saw you do that light spell, and we've all done accidental magic of course, but they all just accept that magic exists and that we can just do it, and we've never even seen it done before!" Hermione took a second to breathe before launching back into what she was saying, but Harry stopped her, breaking in just ahead of her next words.

"Hermione, do you have your wand?"  
"Of course I do, Harry! I wouldn't leave my room without it!" Harry gave her a long stare. "Oh!" she blushed and pulled it out from her robe pocket.

Harry smiled. "Do you know the words to any spells?" No sooner had he asked than Hermione listed a whole set of spells to which she knew the incantations. "Do you know any of the actions?" he asked when he was done, and was again given a long, but this time slightly shorter, list. "Well then pick one that you want to do, and just do it," he suggested. Hermione looked at him as though he was crazy. "Go on," Harry encouraged, "I flew a broom for the first time today, and it was just fine. I'm uh, I'm actually the new Seeker for Gryffindor. And you know way more about this than I do about flying a broom."  
"Oh Harry, that's incredible!" Hermione gushed. "I'm so happy for you! You know, that's really encouraging. I guess I'll try this. It wouldn't do to be less courageous than my fellow Gryffindor, would it?" And with that, Hermione shook out her sleeves and tapped her wand on the table. "_Mertensia!_" A blue flame rose from the table, giving off a strong heat, and Hermione gasped. "I wasn't expecting that to work! I don't know how to put it out," she whispered, horrified. "Quick, save the books!"

Harry just grinned. He had done _some_ reading ahead, after all. Even if this one was all the way at the end of the _Standard Book of Spells: Grade 1_, buried in an appendix. But what could he say? He liked learning spells. "Hermione," he said calmly, "What's the third sentence in the description of the bluebell flames spell in the Standard Book of Spells?"  
For the second time in the day, Hermione looked at him as though he had gone mad, but she began muttering her way through the description that she had clearly memorized. "The flame will burn only what the caster desires, but shall still produce heat, to the caster's liking," she recited. Harry grinned. "But we still don't know how to put it out," she whispered, "we can't just leave it here."

"Let me try something," Harry said, and he withdrew his wand from his pocket, the wand that was the twin to his parents' killer. He hadn't yet used it, and he wasn't sure he wanted to, but this was for a friend, his first friend, so he would use it. He pointed the wand at the bluebell flames. "_Frost_." A ray of freezing cold emanated from the wand, crystallizing the moisture in the air as it travelled towards the flames, which was rapidly extinguished, before dissipating.

"Wow," said Hermione, "You've got to teach me that one."

* * *

**Author's Note:** J.K Rowling etc. I hate writing dialogue. I always think it's very stilted, and I choose to avoid it as much as possible, often too much. So I tried to get over it in this chapter and just do the dialogue thing, but I think it's crap. Oh well.


	8. Sunday

**Chapter 8: Sunday**

Harry was woken the next morning by the shrill ringing of the alarm clock by his bedside. He groaned and rubbed his head, ruffling up even more his already messy hair, and rolled out of bed, pushing aside the scarlet hanging of his four poster bed. He noticed a couple of the other boys tossing and turning as they settled back to sleep after the shock of the alarm. Harry quickly changed from his pyjamas into some jeans and a t-shirt, and threw a school robe on top, before pouring himself a glass of water and downing it in three huge gulps. Then he hurried down the stairs to the common room, where two red-headed twins waited for him.

"Hi," the first one said, and held his hand out to the other. Harry watched confused as the other boy handed him something in a flash of silver. "A bet," the first explained, "Fred bet me a sickle that we'd have to come wake you up, but I was confident you'd be up in a flash. Thanks Potter."

"Yeah, thanks Potter," grumbled the other twin, Fred.

"Anyway," continued the first, "I'm George, this is Fred. Or wait, am I Fred, and he's George?" he trailed off. "Sorry, sorry," he picked up, "got lost in thought there. So as I was saying, we're the Beaters on the team, so we'll be responsible for keeping the bludgers off your back while you catch the snitch. Right, come on, we're wasting time! To the pitch!"

The three boys made excellent time getting to the entrance hall, pulling Harry through passages behind tapestries, through walls that weren't actually there, and down staircases that moved around while they were still on them. Harry's mind was whirling by the time they arrived at the entrance hall, and he numbly followed the twins outside towards the Quidditch pitch. They headed towards a small shed, which turned out to be much more sizeable on the inside, containing eight full changing rooms, complete with a set of showers in each one. "Two for each House," Fred - or was it George - explained. "One for girls, one for boys. There's a little meeting room that both our changing rooms go into so we can prep as a team before games." The twins frogmarched Harry in through a door decorated with a red and gold lion, and stopped in front of Oliver Wood.

"Took your time, didn't you?" Oliver grumbled, and pointed Harry at a locker down the far end of the room. A small set of red and gold robes hung in the locker underneath a large number 7. "That's your locker, Potter. Get changed quick, then pick a broom from that pile in the other corner. I'll see you on the pitch in three minutes. Don't be late." And with that Wood marched out of the room. Fred and George hurried across to their own lockers and started to pull on the number 2 and 3 jerseys, and Harry followed suit. When he walked across to the pile of brooms, he held his hand out once again and said "Up!" and with a smack, and a now-familiar tingle, one of the brooms leapt into his hand. Harry looked at the handle. _Shooting Star_, it read in flowing silver script. Harry grinned, and headed outside.

Once the girls arrived, Harry was introduced to the whole team. Oliver Wood was the keeper, tasked with guarding the three goal hoops from the red leather quaffle. Fred and George Weasley, the red-headed, freckled twins, were the Beaters, responsible for corralling the heavy iron bludgers and batting them towards the other team's players as a distraction. Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet were the older Chasers, both third years like Fred and George, and Katie Bell rounded out the side as the youngest player other than Harry. Like Harry it was her first year on the team and she smiled at him nervously as the girls arrived. Practice quickly got started, and while Harry had demonstrated a natural talent for flying, Oliver sent George with him to make sure he had the fundamentals down. Before long, Harry was flying circles around George, and George called him in to watch the rest of the practice. Oliver was drilling the three chasers, using Fred to beat a bludger towards them to simulate a game-like environment. George used this opportunity to give Harry a more in-depth overview of how Quidditch was played and the roles of each position.

Eventually, with twenty minutes remaining in practice, Oliver called George over and Oliver, George, and Katie played a quick practice game against Angelina, Alicia, and Fred. Before they started, Oliver released the Golden Snitch, with a quick instruction to Harry that he wasn't allowed to go to breakfast until he caught it. Three minutes later, Harry was headed to the showers, Snitch in hand, while the rest of the team still had seventeen minutes to go. By the time the Gryffindor squad touched down, Harry had already started his breakfast.

* * *

Before long, Hermione joined Harry at the Gryffindor table, and they ate together in amicable silence. Before too long, Neville joined them, and for a few minutes the only sound was the sound of crunching toast and slurping pumpkin juice. Then Professor McGonagall swept down from the head table, and Neville dropped his fork underneath the table in surprise. "I have your timetables here," Professor McGonagall stated brusquely, "if you have any questions, feel free to come by my office to ask. It's on the First floor, below the Defense Against the Dark Arts tower. I suggest you ask a Prefect to show you around where all the rooms are today, before classes start tomorrow. It wouldn't do to be late." Harry nodded as he listened, and took the proffered timetable, but he had a much better idea for how to learn his way around the castle than to ask a prefect.

Before too long, Fred and George arrived, hair still wet from the shower, and Harry waved them over. After he introduced the Weasley twins to Hermione and Neville, he asked them if they would be willing to show the first-years around the castle. "After all," Harry told them, "after this morning's adventures, I can't imagine anyone knows their way around the castle better than you two."  
Fred and George tapped their noses knowingly, completely synchronized. "Flattery-" one of them said, "-will get you everywhere, Harrikins," the other completed. Harry scowled at the new nickname, but said nothing. It was better than any nickname he'd ever had before.

The five students unhurriedly finished their breakfast, with Hermione asking frequent questions about lessons, Harry about quidditch and the various professors, and Fred and George trying to tell as many stories as possible about their various pranks, seemingly egged on by the quickly deepening frown on Hermione's face. Neville just listened.

The group of students spent the morning traversing the castle, with Fred and George pointing out a variety of handy passages, and explaining how to identify the trick steps. Before long, an idea occurred to Harry, and at random intervals he would say the name of one of the twins, then quickly come up with a random question to ask. Hermione caught on quickly to what he was doing and joined in, but it didn't take long for the twins to catch on as well, and before long they began to either ignore Harry and Hermione entirely, or both turn and answer at exactly the same time. Still, by that point Harry was relatively certain he could tell which was which. Harry got the chance to speak to Neville a bit as well, and found out that like him, the chubby boy lived with relatives, though Neville's grandmother, while strict and austere, still seemed to care rather more for Neville than the Dursleys did for Harry. Harry also found out that Hermione's parents were dentists, a profession that took more than a little explanation to the three wizarding-raised boys. Apparently in the wizarding world, illnesses were very rare and almost always deadly. Medical professionals were called Healers, and most Healers dealt with spell damage or other magical incidents, including injuries from magical creatures. Harry also learned a little about the Ministry of Magic from the twins, whose father worked there, but the twins mostly just had amusing anecdotes to share, rather than any real insights into the governance of the wizarding world. Harry did learn though that other than the position of Minister for Magic, the Headmaster, Dumbledore, held the two most important governing positions. Which, he mentioned to Hermione, was certainly strange. More and more, Harry was very curious about meeting the old man.

The group headed to lunch, where they split up, with Fred and George joining their friend Lee, a lanky boy with long dreadlocks, and the first-years heading down to the other end of the table, where they sat with the other first-years. Hermione was in an excellent mood as they had all received their schedules at breakfast, and so the topic of conversation was naturally the upcoming lessons the following day. Lavender, Parvati, Ron, Neville and Seamus all had stories they could repeat from family members, and Harry, Hermione and Dean had all met certain teachers when they had come to introduce them to the wizarding world. The conversation went on for some time, and then the group decided to make the most of their freedom and went outside to walk around the grounds.

* * *

Dinner was a more somber affair as the reality that the next day would involve regimented structure and long hours of classes, but the students still dug into their meals with relative enthusiasm. Once everyone had eaten their fill, Professor Dumbledore stood up and tapped a spoon against his crystal goblet, sending a piercing ringing throughout the room. "Good evening," the bearded professor intoned. "I hope you are all feeling refreshed after that wonderful meal. Unfortunately, it is my duty to remind you all that classes do begin tomorrow," at this, quiet grumbling and a couple of quiet boos could be heard, "and so I hope that you will all get a good night's sleep, so that you will be prepared for a wonderful day of learning tomorrow. And I should also be remiss not to remind you that your professors will be testing how much of your knowledge you have retained over the summer, and," Harry could have sworn that the old man's eyes _twinkled_ for a moment, "that your assignments from the summer will be due tomorrow. Professor Snape, among others," and here all eyes turned, in greater or lesser quantities of terror, to the dark-haired professor, "has assured me that he will be taking a very dim view of anyone who is missing their summer assignments. Finally, please stay alert to the noticeboards in your common rooms. I am assured that the Charms club, the Gobstones club, and the school Choir will all be starting soon." With that, Professor Dumbledore retook his seat, and the meal ended, with students exiting the great hall in fits and spurts.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Just another chapter… As usual all recognizable characters etc. belong to J.K. Rowling, plot etc. is my own, shameless plug for my Forgotten Realms story _Thirdboy_ if you haven't already read it.


	9. Potions

Chapter 9: Potions

The school year started in earnest and time flew by for Harry. His first lesson was Herbology with a dumpy little witch named Professor Sprout, with a flustered appearance and flyaway hair, almost the polar opposite of Aunt Petunia. Professor Sprout was the head of house for Hufflepuff, with whom the first year Gryffindors shared their Herbology lessons. Mostly they were just doing weeding and watering at the moment, a task with which Harry was well acquainted. Professor Sprout gave away house points liberally, and Harry, Neville and Hermione between them collected a sizeable helping, for which they were congratulated by Percy and booed by Fred and George at lunch. Harry certainly heard Ron scoff from time to time as well, but he paid no attention.

They then had Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Quirrell. Some of the students with older siblings had given good reports of Professor Quirrell as the former Muggle Studies professor, but clearly something horrifying had happened to the man on his sabbatical. The Defense professor could hardly make it through a full sentence without stuttering, and quailed at even the lightest of topics, such as garden gnomes, hardly a fearsome magical creature, barely even a pest. Furthermore, the man wore an obnoxious purple turban, and the smell of garlic emanating from it was sufficient to cause Harry dreadful headaches every time he entered the room. Within a week Harry could hardly bear to attend Defense classes, and to Hermione's perpetual consternation spent most of the class slumped over his desk cradling his head in his hands. Quirrell barely even seemed to notice.

In Charms, Harry excelled. Professor Flitwick was tiny and wizened, but more excitable than he seemed to have any right to be. Dean and Hermione both nearly broke down laughing when Harry mouthed "Yoda?" to them, while the wizard-raised Gryffindors just stared blankly at the muggleborns' strange behavior. Professor Flitwick started them off with a simple charm, Lumos, which when done correctly would light the tip of the caster's wand. Harry managed it on the first try, to an excited cheer from Professor Flitwick and an exclamation of "Ten points to Gryffindor!" in a squeaky voice. "Well done Mr. Potter, well done!" Professor Flitwick congratulated. "Your mother's talent with charms I see, as well as her eyes. Quick with a wand Lily Evans was, most certainly." Professor Flitwick then moved on to assist other students with their own efforts, leaving Harry basking in the praise and the comparison to his mother. Hermione nudged him, and whispered a quick suggestion. Moments later, Harry jabbed his wand forward and spoke again. "Light!" The wand tip lit, this time brighter than before, and Harry grinned. Next, he tried waving the wand instead of jabbing, but to his surprise, it did not light. Even using the incantation Lumos, the wand would not light with a wave instead of a jab. Harry whispered it to Hermione, who wrote it down on a piece of parchment.

In every subsequent Charms lesson, Harry and Hermione would race to be the first to learn a new spell, and then would try out a variety of changes, seeing which ones would allow them to cast, and which would not.

Astronomy took place late on Wednesday night, and after Defense was quickly becoming Harry's least favorite subject, especially given that Oliver had the Quidditch team practice for three to four hours most Wednesday evenings. Harry could barely keep his eyes open, and the chill breeze at the top of the Astronomy Tower made the entire experience all the more unpleasant. Fortunately, Harry was typically able to make up for lost sleep in Thursday morning's History of Magic lesson. None of the first-years had been shocked that the Professor Binns was a ghost, but despite forewarning from everyone they spoke to, they were still surprised by quite how boring the professor was. Within twenty minutes of the first lesson Harry was asleep, and even Hermione didn't bother to reprimand him. Neville woke him up at the end of class, for which Harry was very grateful as they made their way through the corridor to Transfiguration.

Transfiguration was much more difficult for Harry than Charms, but he could not deny that Professor McGonagall was an excellent teacher, giving clear instructions and always willing to help, though absolutely intolerant of mischief. Only Hermione managed to transform her matchstick into a needle in the first class, though many of the others achieved some partial transfiguration. Professor McGonagall made it very clear that the learning curve for transfiguration could be very steep, but also that she expected everyone's full effort, and that practice should continue to take place outside of class. By the next lesson, most of the Gryffindor first years could achieve a full transfiguration within their first few tries, and were excited to move on to something else, until Professor McGonagall announced that they would be moving onto theory, prompting more than a few groans.

Eventually Friday arrived, the day of their first Potions lesson. The attitude of the first years was mixed, between negative anticipation of the supposedly strict and unkind Professor Snape, and the excitement of only having to make it through one more class before the weekend, as they had free periods in the afternoon. At breakfast the post arrived, and Harry was excited to see Arwen, his owl, winging her way down towards him, clutching a note in her talons. He stroked her snow-white feathers and offered her some toast, quickly replacing it with bacon as she turned up her beak, and removed the note. It was from Hagrid. In messy writing it read:

Harry,

I know you have the afternoon off. Would you like to come down to my house for a spot of tea around 2? I'd love to hear how your first week has gone and all about classes.

Hagrid.

Harry smiled and showed the note to Hermione. "Oh, how lovely," she said. "Mr. Hagrid seems like a very nice man. Do you suppose he'd mind if I came along too? Oh my, look at the time! We'd better get going to Potions if we don't want to be late." And so they set off in the direction of the dungeons.

* * *

Severus Snape did not go down to breakfast Friday morning. He took breakfast in his office instead, pondering the day ahead of him. It had taken a good portion of his restraint and mental discipline to not break down Minerva's door when he received the schedule showing Gryffindor and Slytherin first years in a joint class on a Friday morning. Not only should Gryffindor and Slytherin ever be together, in his opinion, but on Friday morning, when they were already thinking about the weekend? More than ever Severus regretted joining the service of the Dark Lord, if only because it had led to him being forced to teach Potions to eleven-year-olds.

Severus sighed. The visit to Petunia had left him deeply conflicted. Severus had never expected to like the Potter boy, and despite swearing to protect Lily's son had never actually expected to have to do so, especially not before the brat even made it to Hogwarts, and certainly not from his own family. Severus was unsure whether Minerva had known what he would do when he was shown the letter Potter had sent her, but Severus wouldn't be surprised if the wily Scot had shown it to Severus in the full knowledge that he would plunder Petunia's mind to discover the depths of the boy's mistreatment. And plunder Severus had. Unknown to Lily's muggle sister, while Severus had been conducting a seemingly inane conversation about the logistics of the boy's attendance to Hogwarts, he had been conducting a Legilimency probe into her thoughts, and he did not like what he had found.

Potter's treatment had certainly been kinder than Severus' own at the hands of his muggle father, Tobias, but nonetheless there were certainly similarities, especially to the treatment Tobias had shown his son before Severus began attending Hogwarts. Most of the beatings had come after, the old man secure in the knowledge that the Ministry had disallowed Severus from using magic to defend himself. Even so, Severus had been troubled by Petunia's treatment of Lily's son, and before leaving had implanted a very strong mental suggestion that she readjust her and her oafish husband's attitude. If they could not love the boy, they could at least treat him well enough and leave him alone. The entire time in Diagon Alley had been torture, and Severus had blocked almost all his emotions, focusing on robotically regurgitating information to the boy who looked so much like another he had met on his first train ride to Hogwarts. And now Severus would have to teach Potter's spawn, in a class combination as volatile as any Hogwarts had ever before seen. He groaned and pushed his virtually uneaten food away, before casting the silencing and animating spells on his cloak to generate his characteristic presence, and striding down the hallway to where nearly twenty first-years awaited.

* * *

The first person Harry saw when they entered the corridor of the Potions classroom was Draco Malfoy, recognizable instantly by his platinum-blond hair, seemingly stuck into place by a supernatural force. Harry supposed that with magic, that might actually be a possible explanation. Harry stepped to the side of the corridor and stopped a decent distance away. Malfoy was facing the other way and conversing with his housemates, and Harry saw no reason to interrupt. He certainly hadn't made a good impression on him the previous time they had spoken. Harry's plans were put immediately to bed however, as a hideous shriek filled the air. "Look," cried a pug-nosed, dark haired girl, "it's four-eyes Potter! And is there a girl behind all that hair?" she cackled, pointing at Hermione. Harry took a step forward, filled with anger, but was cut off by Malfoy speaking.

"Now, now, Pansy" the blond Slytherin chided, "there's no need for that." Harry almost reconsidered his opinion of the other boy before Malfoy continued. "It's clearly not a girl, it's a beaver, just look at the teeth!" By now the other Gryffindors had begun to trickle in, and Ron and Seamus only just got to Harry in time to stop the seething boy from charging at Malfoy. Lavender, Parvati and Neville instantly moved to comfort a crying Hermione, while Dean glowered at Malfoy and Pansy, fists clenched.

At that moment, Professor Snape arrived, taking in the scene. "What," he asked, voice low and deadly, "is going on here?" Several voices clamored to answer, but were almost instantly silenced by a hissed "Enough."  
"Miss Granger," Professor Snape spoke clearly, "Explain why you are crying." Unknown to the students, Severus made strong eye contact with the girl and scanned her memories as she replied, cursing inwardly at pureblood heirs and their lack of thought. Playing this off as Severus Snape, servant of the Dark Lord, pureblood supremacist, would be quite difficult to achieve without resorting to the most flagrant favoritism. Fortunately, he was saved from the act by Granger's completely Gryffindor irrational decision to lie to him.

"I just got something in my eye, Professor," Hermione answered meekly. "Parvati and Lavender are helping me to get it out."  
"That's not true," burst out Harry, enraged, "Malfoy," he began, but he was interrupted by Professor Snape's deadly tone again.

"Are you calling Miss Granger a liar, Mr. Potter," Professor Snape asked. Harry looked at the floor, and from the corner of his eye he caught Ron shaking his head meaningfully.

"No, Professor Snape," Harry replied, and then the matter was settled.

"In," commanded Professor Snape, forcing the door open with a wave of his hand.

"Potions is an exacting science," lectured Professor Snape once the class had settled, "and yet the highest of arts a wizard can aspire to. In potion-making there are no half-measures, no short-cuts, and no easy remedies, yet a truly skilled adept can by force of intuition alone create steps to vastly improve the efficacy of a potion. In this class I can teach you to create all manner of useful potions that far surpass the effectiveness and reliability of any spell, but I warn you, this may be dangerous and any inattentiveness will be severely discouraged. Now then," and again he casually waved his hand, sending a piece of parchment zipping across the room to each student, "there will be a test of the knowledge that you bring to this class. If you struggle, I strongly suggest that you come to the next class more prepared."

Harry watched Professor Snape's speech mesmerized, and was wildly impressed by the displays of wandless magic. While Harry knew that it was possible to cast without a wand from his own experience, even the minor bits of magic he had managed wandlessly had been incredibly draining, not to mention incredibly difficult to learn, where with a wand he could cast the spells easily. Professor Snape's ability to do such powerful magic seemingly effortlessly impressed Harry no end.

Harry didn't know what to think about the taciturn professor. Snape was clearly the youngest member of staff, though the Astronomy professor, Sinistra, and Professor Quirrell did not seem too much older. He was also the only person Harry had seen use magic without a wand, even including other professors, and the taciturn man had displayed a near encyclopedic knowledge of seemingly everything on their trip with Professor McGonagall to Diagon Alley. Yet Snape was also dark, brooding, and stand-offish, and anyone who had history with Aunt Petunia and was not instantly hounded out of her house was someone to be wary of, one way or the other. Harry also had a constant prickling sensation of being watched whenever he was around Snape, even when the professor turned his back to the class to point to something on the board.

Professor Snape was not a bad teacher, though he refused to lower his speed of teaching in the slightest, regardless of the students' ability to keep up. Harry didn't have time to glance at any of his classmates as he struggled to follow the lecture on the interaction between dried nettles and horned slugs in the basic boil-curing potion that they were being taught, let alone to question his neighbors on what Professor Snape meant by the 'ontological properties' of the crushed snake fangs, and how those properties differed to the ontological properties of snapped or whole snake fangs. However, by the end of class, everyone had managed to brew an acceptable potion, and Harry was quite proud of the deep red color of the potion he and Hermione had made. Even Neville and Seamus had managed to make a somewhat passable potion, though it was a very pale red, and there had been any number of interesting popping and bubbling sounds from their cauldron. It was an exhausted class of first-years that made their way out of the dungeons and towards the great hall for lunch. Harry recovered quickly, and by the end of the meal was even able to muster the energy to discuss the previous lesson with Hermione, running over the basics of what they had learned and filling in each other's gaps on what they had missed.

Before long though, it was time to head over to Hagrid's, and they traipsed across the grounds to the gamekeeper's hut, a long wooden building with a stone chimney, from which the faintest wisps of smoke escaped. Once they got close, they heard the barking of a dog, and then the wooden door creaked open and Hagrid stepped out to meet them.

"Down, Fang, down," Hagrid commanded, and Harry was greeted to the sight of a huge dog, bouncing and barking with excitement, larger even than Aunt Marge's prized hounds. He flinched away, but Hagrid waved him over enthusiastically, "He won' hurt you," the large man exclaimed, "he's a real softy, he's just excited for company. Down, ye dopey dog," Hagrid commanded again, and with that Fang let out a whine and laid down at Hagrid's feet. Hermione rushed over quickly and started to pet the huge boarhound, who let out a contented grumble and flicked out his long tongue to lick Hermione's face. She shrieked in response before burying her hands deep in Fang's fur and rubbing his tummy vigorously. Harry approached more cautiously, but reassured that the huge dog was friendly, unlike Marge's favorite bulldog, Ripper.

Hagrid ushered them both inside and started pouring them tea, when Harry's eye was caught by the headline on the newspaper lying on the table, dated some months earlier. GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN: NO SUSPECT FOUND, it read. "Why do you have this old Daily Prophet, Hagrid?" Harry asked.

"Oh, uh, it's jest lyin' around, don't ye worry," Hagrid replied. "Ye'd 'ave to be mad to try an' rob Gringotts, safest place in Britain fer anythin' yer tryin' to protect, other than Hogwarts. But ye' don't 'ave to worry, there wasn't anything in the vault when they broke in, seeing as I moved it the day before. Don't tell anyone I told you that," Hagrid commanded, instantly realizing his mistake. "I wasn't supposed to tell anyone that, just a little job I was doin' fer Professor Dumbledore. Anyway, tell me about your week. How're classes going?"

Harry's curiosity was instantly piqued, and he could tell Hermione's was as well, but he went along with Hagrid's change of topic, and began to regale the groundskeeper with everything he had been learning and little anecdotes about all the teachers, though Hagrid frowned when they got onto the topic of Professor Quirrell. "Brilliant academic," Hagrid commented, "But he came back very strange, like he'd seen things no-one should ever see. And I don't know where the garlic came from, he wouldn't tell me. That's new though this year, never used to have garlic, nor that turban neither. Anyway, tell me about Quidditch. I heard from Professor McGonagall you made the team, youngest seeker in a century, I couldn' believe it. 'Course, yer dad was good on a broom, played Chaser all seven years fer Gryffindor, but he was a March birthday, not a June, so ye'd 'ave been younger even if he were a seeker."

Harry grinned back and launched into a tale of Quidditch tryouts. From there until dinner the conversation flowed freely between Harry, Hermione, and Hagrid, and the newspaper was quite forgotten.

* * *

That night, Oliver Wood stood outside the entrance to Professor McGonagall's office and waited to be called in. The call eventually came, and Oliver stepped inside and took a seat at the desk, opposite the professor. She proffered a biscuit tin at him. "Ginger Newt?" He shook his head. "Very well." Professor McGonagall put the tin back down and leaned forward. "Tell me we're going to win the Cup this year, Wood," she demanded. Wood swallowed hard.

"We should Ma'am, the team we've got."

"And Potter," she demanded, "You're sure he's good enough?"  
"He outflew Charlie Weasley's little brother on a broom a model older, so I'd say he's got more than enough talent. Better than any of the other idiots who tried out as well, but that's not saying much. I thought we'd have to play this season without a Seeker until I called those first years down. He'd never flown before, you know?" Professor McGonagall nodded, and Wood could have sworn for a moment she was misty-eyed. It was no secret Professor McGonagall loved Quidditch, so he wouldn't have been too surprised. They sat in silence for a moment.

"What broom is he using?"

"Shooting Star."

"You're not serious?"

"I gave him a choice of all the best school brooms, that's the one he picked."  
"But those brooms are outdated by a quarter century by now. I know for a fact Higgs has a Comet Two-Sixty, Severus was gloating about it. However talented the boy is, that's too much of a mismatch. I'll talk to Albus about bending the rules a little about first years and brooms, and I'll owl my grand-niece at Quality Quidditch Supplies tomorrow. I think a Nimbus 2000 should do our Seeker nicely, don't you?" Wood was speechless, merely nodding furiously at Professor McGonagall's suggestion. "Excellent," the professor continued. "Well, off you go then, but I expect you back here next Friday with another progress report. And hopefully by then our new seeker will be on a half-decent broom." Wood got up quickly and exited, thanking McGonagall profusely as he did so. She smiled tightly. After all those years of having Charlie Weasley on the team without a single winning season, she'd be damned if Gryffindor didn't make the most of the talented young squad they had this year.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Hi, the usual. Please feel free to follow or favorite this story, and also to check out my Forgotten Realms story, Thirdboy.


	10. Halloween

**Chapter 10: Halloween**

The term progressed smoothly for Harry. He was busy of course, classes and homework consuming his days, and Quidditch practice most evenings. With all this, Harry barely had time to think about anything else, and he rarely did. On the day of Halloween, Harry sat with Hermione and Neville at lunch, and then they headed together to Charms, where Professor Flitwick announced that they would be learning a new charm, the Levitation Charm. Harry and Hermione sat in the middle row of the classroom, and when Ron Weasley arrived late, "Two points from Gryffindor, , for repeated tardiness," the only empty seat was the one next to Hermione. Professor Flitwick described the incantation and the wand motion, and had the class practice both individually.

Harry waved his wand and spoke the words along with the rest of the class, but he wasn't really focusing. Sure enough, once it came time to do the practical part of the lesson, and Professor Flitwick passed around a box of feathers for them to use, it took Harry just one swish and flick to raise his feather smoothly into the air, setting the tiny professor off into a round of applause. Moments later Hermione rolled up her sleeves and exhorted "_Wingardium Leviosa_," and her feather joined Harry's, setting the professor off again. Once they had both demonstrated their aptitude, Harry and Hermione put their heads together to see how badly they could mangle the spell and still get it to work. As usual, Harry was able to find a variety of incantations that would get the job done, but the wand movement had to remain the same. Any variation would cause the spell to fail, no matter how hard he tried to make it work.

By the time the class was coming to an end, most of their classmates had made some progress, though in Seamus' case that merely meant lighting his feather on fire, and Neville's hadn't twitched. Ron Weasley had made some progress, as his feather had moved more than once, but he had apparently decided that volume was a good substitute for precision, and continued to bellow at his feather. Harry tuned him out, having had plenty of practice with Uncle Vernon and Dudley, but Hermione eventually turned to the red-head and snapped, "Saying it louder won't help, Ronald, you need to _flick _at the end of your _swish_. If you just wave your wand around, you're not controlling your magic at all."

Harry sighed and looked away. He had learned early in life that if people wanted to do something wrong, they wouldn't take kindly to assistance, even if you really were helping them. Apparently Hermione had not yet learned this, he mused, which would explain her lack of other friends. He tuned out Ron's angry retort, and focused on doodling in his notebook. Soon, the bell rang, and Harry and Hermione packed up slowly before thanking Professor Flitwick and heading out the door towards Defence Against the Dark Arts. As they walked, they heard Ron's voice from just ahead, where he was strolling along talking to Dean. "I can't stand her, honestly," the red-head was saying, "she's such a know-it-all. It's a miracle Potter still puts up with her, and if he didn't, she'd have no friends at all." It took Harry a moment to process what he heard, but not so Hermione, and by the time he turned to look at her, all he saw was the flutter of a black robe turning a corner in the distance. Harry wasted no time sprinting after her, but Hermione was nearly as quick as he was, and before he could catch up, she ducked into a girls-only bathroom on the first floor, into which Harry couldn't follow her. He did bang on the door and yell her name however, but was met only with muffled sobbing. Harry realized he would be late for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but also decided he didn't really care. A headache from twelve pounds of garlic was the last thing he needed right now. So he sat by the door to the bathroom and occasionally tried to make conversation.

After a couple of hours had passed, Hermione finally broke her silence. "Just go away!" she cried. "You can just go back and be popular with everyone else and leaver Hermione the beaver here on her own, like always. I know you don't really want to be here, I know it! Just go!" Harry began to protest, but every time he would speak, Hermione would resume her shouting, and he eventually gave up and wandered back to Gryffindor Tower, before heading down to the Great Hall.

* * *

When Harry arrived at the Great Hall, Hagrid was just finishing moving the last of the giant pumpkins into place. The Great Hall had been transformed, with black and orange streamers trailing from the rafters, huge hangings along the walls in the same colors, and bats swooping between the lanterns affixed to the walls and ceilings. Huge pumpkins that Harry had previously seen growing between the Forbidden Forest and Hagrid's hut were now stacked in every nook and cranny of the hall. "How ye' doin' there Harry?" asked Hagrid. "Where's your little friend?"

"She got upset with something someone said after class and she's refusing to talk to me," Harry confided in the groundskeeper. "Eventually I decided to just come down here rather than keep trying to get her to talk."  
"Tha's a good decision, 'Arry," Hagrid said cheerfully. "She'll come around in her own time, ye'll see. Now, do ye' wanna help me carve a couple of these pumpkins?"

"Really Hagrid? That sounds great!" Harry replied. He was awestruck by the quality of the decorations, and he'd never carved a pumpkin before. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't celebrate Halloween. Vernon always worked late, and Dudley was always shipped off to one of his friends' houses, so Harry was left to his own devices staying out of Aunt Petunia's way as she watched TV and downed red wine by the bottle. Harry focused on what the groundskeeper was saying.

"So ye' can use yer wand, if ye know the charm," Hagrid said, "But I prefer to use a knife, the old fashioned way, like me da' used to do. Good man, my da'" the big man added, quietly. "So we'll do that today, and you can get Pr'fessor Flitwick to show you the charm later, alrigh'? Good, now let's get started."

Harry and Hagrid spent an enjoyable hour together carving the pumpkins, getting more and more creative as they went along, until Professor McGonagall entered and told them to get cleaned up, as the feast would be starting soon.

As Harry reentered the Hall after washing up, he noticed Ron walking towards the Gryffindor table, and purposefully made his way towards the other end of the table, running into Katie Bell on his way there. He sat down next to her and was quickly introduced to the dark-haired Chaser's friends, right as the meal popped onto the table. The meal was delicious and Harry lost himself in the flavors and listening to the idle conversation of the second-years, and it soon slipped his mind that Hermione had still not showed up to the feast. Harry was just helping himself to a second serving of potatoes when all of a sudden Professor Quirrel ran into the Great Hall, robes flapping and turban bobbing in his haste. "Troll! In the dungeons," cried the timid professor. "Oh dear, I don't feel too good," he continued, quiet statement ringing out over the immediate silence. And then the professor slumped to the floor in a dead faint. Chaos broke out instantly, only to be brought to a halt almost as swiftly as it had begun by a cannon blast ringing out from the Headmaster's wand. "Silence, please, everyone," Professor Dumbledore commanded, firm tone carrying more weight than Harry thought any person's words should be able to. "Prefects, please lead your Houses to the higher floors. Professors, with me. We shall sweep the castle."

As soon as Dumbledore finished speaking, as if a spell was lifted people began to chatter urgently among themselves. Percy Weasley and his fellow Gryffindor prefects valiantly strove to organize the rowdy Gryffindors, but eventually settled for herding them en masse towards Gryffindor tower. Harry opened his mouth to make a comment to Hermione, before realizing that his friend had still not made an appearance. He suddenly realized what that meant, and without a moment's hesitation arrowed towards Ron Weasley, grabbing the lanky redhead by his jumper and dragging him into a side hallway.

"What the heck, Potter?" the other boy demanded. "There's a troll on the loose! What are you doing?"  
"Hermione!" Harry yelled back. "She's not here, because of what you said! And she doesn't know about the troll. So I'm going to find her, and you are coming with me! Let's go, Weasley!" And with that, Harry took off running, not bothering to wait and see if Ron would follow. Fortuitously, the ginger had had plenty of time to think since his angry statements earlier, and had already been feeling guilty about the way he had treated his classmate. So he followed Harry's lead to the first-floor bathroom, where they heard sounds of grunting. Ron took it as a bad sign when Harry's face drained of what little colour it had already, and the black-haired boy charged into the bathroom. The youngest Weasley boy gulped, and followed his classmate's lead.

* * *

Harry didn't even hesitate as he flung open the door and flew into the bathroom, catching an eyeful of a disgusting, lumbering, green-brown creature waving a huge oaken log around with as much ease as a wizard would wave a wand. And the stench was eye-watering. The troll had clearly been smashing the row of sinks along the wall, and was raising its club to finish off the last one as Harry entered, spotting Hermione cowering in the opposite corner of the room. He wasted no time. "_Frost,_" he incanted, and a freezing ray shot from his hand and crashed straight into the back of the huge monster. The troll didn't even seem to notice, and completed its destruction of the final sink in one fell stroke. Harry raised his hand and incanted again. "_Daze_," he commanded, and again a ray sprang from his hand, this time a pale, translucent yellow, but again, the monster failed to show any reaction. With no option left as the troll turned towards his first friend, Harry sprinted towards the massive beast and jumped onto its back, swinging his right foot low and hard beneath him, right between the troll's hefty legs. _That_ got its attention. With a roll of its massive shoulders, the troll shook Harry off, sending him flying into a pile of shattered sink parts, and the odorous monster turned again, this time raising its club with Harry as the target. From his vantage point, prone on the ground, Harry watched the club rise into the air, and prepared for it to fall. But instead of falling, the club kept rising.

"_Wingardium Leviosa_," commanded Ron, swishing and flicking with military precision, and the troll watched, dumbfounded, as its club raised higher and higher out of reach, before suddenly reversing course and crashing down onto the brute's head. The troll fell to the ground, still odorous, but far less conscious.

For a minute nobody spoke, then all of a sudden Harry burst out laughing, more from relief than anything else. Staring down a troll with club raised, Harry had thought he was at the end of his days, then all of a sudden, he was saved, by Ron Weasley no less. And there was really nothing more humorous than avoiding one's own mortality. Within moments, Hermione and Ron joined in, and laughter was still ringing through the halls when the professors arrived.

Predictably, Professor Snape swept in first, completely silently and yet with his cape billowing out behind him, sneer affixed as always to his features. Professor Dumbledore entered second and just as silently, kindly eyes twinkling behind his half-moon lenses, and the corners of his mouth just slightly upturned behind his magnificent white beard, Professor McGonagall entered last, the heels of her sensible leather shoes clicking in time with each step she took, and she fixed the laughing students with a steely glare. "Who would care to explain what is going on here?" she demanded, scottish accent thickening in anger. "Weasley, perhaps?" Ron sobered up instantly and looked at every square inch of the room in turn that didn't contain a professor. Professor McGonagall sighed. "Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked the professor square in the eye and replied. "It's all my fault, professor," she said, "I didn't go to the feast! I was here the whole time, and then the troll came and there was nowhere to go! And then suddenly Harry showed up, and he jumped on the troll, and then the troll was going to bash him with its club, but then Ron came in too, and he used the Levitation Charm that Professor Flitwick showed us in class today, and then suddenly I wasn't going to die any more! And then Harry started laughing, and we all did, and I'm so sorry Professor, please don't expel me!"

"Expel you, Miss Granger? Absolutely not," Professor McGonagall replied, "Although I will be requiring you to attend all feasts in future, I think. Five points to all of you for bravery. Now then, we can't have you go back to the Great Hall, that would give the wrong idea about chasing down mountain trolls to the other students. No, sandwiches in the dormitories I think, for all three of you." Dumbledore looked on proudly, eyes still twinkling, and Snape watched, impassive, sneer still affixed, as McGonagall led the students out of the bathroom and towards Gryffindor Tower.

From that moment on, Harry, Hermione and Ron were inseparable. Really, how could you not be best of friends with anyone who would fight a mountain troll with you? They spent hours that night talking and telling stories and really getting to know each other, until they heard the other Gryffindors begin to return from the Halloween Feast, and quickly said their goodbyes and sprinted off to bed. They could tell the story of how they fought a troll in the morning.

* * *

Some hours later, Minerva McGonagall and Severus Snape sat in Severus' study, an empty bottle of brandy and two empty glasses on the table between them. "Wha' the fuck 'as Albus got us into this time?" Minerva questioned her younger friend, not for the first time that night, though she didn't remember the others. Also not for the first time, though he did remember the others, Severus replied. "Fuck if I know, M'nerva. Fuck if I know."


	11. Duel

**Chapter 11: Duel**

Two days later at breakfast, Harry, Hermione and Ron were sitting together when two barn owls swooped down, each holding one end of a long, thin package wrapped in brown paper. The owls, clearly well trained, set the package down in front of a surprised Harry Potter. Harry's first thought was that the package could not possibly be for him. After all, who would send him anything, let alone by owl mail? However, on checking the tag, it turned out that it was.

_Mr. Harry Potter_, it read, _Please find enclosed your new broom, courtesy of Quality Quidditch Supplies, Number 72, Diagon Alley. Let's Go Gryffindor!_ Harry's jaw dropped, and he showed the note to Ron. "Well don't just sit there," his new friend said, "Come on, open it!" Reverently, Harry pulled at the twine holding the paper together, allowing the package to open. On the table in front of him lay a sleek mahogany racing broom, polished to a mirror-like finish, with gleaming steel foot-pegs and perfectly straight and groomed tail twigs. Gasps and murmurs began to swell around the Gryffindor table and then carry further through the hall as first Harry's neighbors caught glimpses of the broom, then the attention of those further away was caught by the sounds of appreciation and envy. Harry stared at the broom, absorbing every inch of it, every curve and every notch. Eventually his gaze made its way to the gilded cursive marking the handle of the broom. "Nimbus 2000," he breathed, "This is amazing. Hey, Ron, you want to go try it out right now?"

"Are you crazy?" the lanky ginger replied. "Of course I do. I know all about the Nimbus line, not that we could afford one of course. Anyway, let's go!" The two boys scrambled away from the bench, Harry clutching the broom tightly, when they were stopped by their bushy-haired friend. "The only place you should be taking that broom is Gryffindor tower," she snapped. "We've got Potions in fifteen minutes. Do you really want to skip _Professor Snape's_ lesson?" Harry and Ron gulped in unison, before quickly agreeing with Hermione, and racing towards Gryffindor tower.

The two boys made it only as far as the first floor before being stopped. From behind them came a yell of "Potter, Potter!" They turned to see a red-faced Draco Malfoy run up to them, followed at a distance by his puffing, panting, miniature troll bodyguards. "What do you want, Malfoy?" spat Ron viciously. Harry's eyebrows raised unintentionally. As he and Ron had not been on the best of terms previously, Harry was quite surprised by the vehemence of his friend's dislike for Malfoy, having not really paid attention to Ron's social life. Harry echoed his new friend, though his tone was more bored than vicious. "Yes, what do you want Malfoy?" he asked. "Here to tell me you'll help me to make friends again?" By this point the blond boy had recovered his breath, and spoke quickly.

"First years aren't allowed brooms, Potter. You think you're so special, Gryffindor Quidditch player, breaking all the rules. Well, I'm here to tell you your luck won't last forever. You get what you're born into in this life, like Weasley, who's going to get nothing at all. Or Granger, who'll always be a filthy muggle."

"You take that back," snapped Harry. "Hermione's the best witch in our year, and at least Ron has friendship, unlike you!"

At that Malfoy blanched but he rapidly schooled his features and responded. "I won't take it back Potter, what are you going to do about it. Fancy a wizard's duel? Or are you too cowardly?"

Harry didn't even have a moment to think before Ron replied, "You're on, Malfoy. I'm his second, who's yours?"

Shocked, Malfoy took a moment to collect himself, before turning to look at his two lackeys. He considered briefly, and then spoke. "Crabbe will be my second," the blond declared. "Meet me on top of the astronomy tower, midnight. Hope you're not afraid to lose to a real wizard, Potter." Then he turned and quickly strode away, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

Ron looked at Harry. "We're so going to be late," he said. Both boys took off at top speed towards Gryffindor tower.

* * *

Ron and Harry skidded to a halt next to Hermione in the dungeon corridor outside the Potions classroom, panting heavily. "Five points from Gryffindor for running in the hallways," they heard the monotonal intonation, as Professor Snape opened the door to the Potions classroom for the students to enter. "Each." Hermione elbowed Ron before he could protest, and the students all shuffled into the classroom. Malfoy caught Harry's eye and smirked.

"What's up with him?" whispered Hermione.

"Tell you later," Harry whispered back, and then he turned his attention to the board, where the chalk was already writing, as Professor Snape strode around the room handing back assignments, accompanied by sarcastic comments on the quality of said assignments. Harry hastened to begin copying down the notes on the board, and Hermione did likewise. Ron just rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

Professor Snape eventually arrived at their desk and handed over three sheets of parchment. Scrawled on the top of Harry's was a large red "P", and in the margins of almost every line was scribbled a comment in Professor Snape's spidery handwriting. Hermione's had an "A", but no comments, merely a red line drawn through the middle of her essay, five inches down the page. "He did say five inches _maximum_," Harry muttered to her, and received a glare in return. To Harry's great surprise, Ron's parchment also had a red "A" at the top, with two brief comments on the text of the essay.

Harry didn't have time to dwell on it, however, as Professor Snape launched into his lecture, instructions writing themselves on the board as he did so. Harry started making his way over to the shelves to collect ingredients, while Hermione lit the flames underneath the cauldron. He picked up lacewing flies, bat guano, and dessicated flobberworms before turning to check the board for the other ingredients. Harry checked the instructions one last time, as he always did at the Dursley's before making a recipe. Checking and re-checking was the difference between getting to eat the dinner he made, or an early bedtime without dinner. He spotted at the bottom of the instructions a note to add juniper, so he turned back to the storage shelves to collect a couple of sprigs, only to have his entire stock of ingredients knocked out of his hands. He looked up to see the smirking face of Draco Malfoy. "Looks like you're behind already, Potter," the blond stated in his usual languid drawl. "I do hope you don't get a _troll_ on this one." And with that Malfoy stalked away before Harry could react. He sighed deeply. This was no different, he told himself, to when Dudley got in one of his moods when he would pick on Harry, just ignore it and move on. So he did, and collected all his ingredients from the ground, before adding juniper to his pile and bringing it back to the workstation.

While he and Ron started chopping ingredients, he told Ron and Hermione what happened. "That's horrible," Hermione stated. "You should tell Professor Snape and get him to do something about it." Harry paled and Ron laughed.

"Good joke, Hermione," Ron interjected. "You know how Snape is - he took ten points from us already today. He'd probably _give _Malfoy ten for that, you know how much he loves his Slytherins." Harry wasn't sure Snape would go that far, but he voiced his agreement with the sentiment. He certainly didn't see Snape favoring _him_ over the Slytherin Golden Boy. Suddenly Ron sat up straighter in his chair, and grinned at his two friends. "Here's what you should do, Harry," he chortled, "Remember when you saw that troll?" Then Ron dropped his voice to a whisper as he gave instructions. A smirk grew on Harry's face as he listened, while Hermione had the opposite expression, a look of horror blossoming on her face.

Moments later, Harry placed his wand down on his desk, and got up to walk over to the cabinet holding the extra utensils, conveniently right by the workstation that Malfoy was currently sharing with Zabini. Crabbe and Goyle had been deemed unfit to work with Malfoy by the end of the first lesson, and were therefore relegated to the row behind. Harry made his way over to the cabinet, and spent a few moments staring at it, as though considering. A thrill rushed through him. He could not remember ever having intentionally fought back against a bully before. A quick motion of his hand and a quick mutter "_Frost_," and suddenly the fire beneath Malfoy's cauldron was no longer lit. Harry selected a silver paring knife from the cabinet and began to walk back right as Malfoy noticed that his cauldron was no longer heating. He leaned over and murmured gently to the pale boy, "Looks like _you're_ behind on this one, Malfoy."

Harry had not even made it back to his desk by the time Malfoy began kicking up a fuss to Professor Snape. "Sir, sir!" the blond wizard cried, "Potter's sabotaged me! He put out the light under my cauldron!"

Snape roused himself from the desk behind which he had been sat grading papers and came to question Harry. The room went deathly silent as the imposing wizard spoke. "Did you put out Mr. Malfoy's fire, Potter?"

"No sir," Harry replied untruthfully, gaze focused on the multitude of cracks in the stone of the floor, "I don't even have my wand on me. It's on my desk, sir, you can check." Unfortunately, Harry was not as good a liar as Severus Snape, and the Potions Master was not fooled. Given that the second part of the statement had rung true, however, Severus was certainly intrigued. It was not often that a student could even cast strong enough magic to put out a fire this early in their first year, and certainly not with a borrowed wand, assuming that was how Potter had done it.

"Look at me," he commanded. Harry looked up and met those dark eyes, and grinned slightly as the recollection flashed through his mind of gesturing and incanting the _Ray of Frost_ cantrip, and the look in Malfoy's eyes as the bully had realized what had happened. "Detention, Potter," intoned Professor Snape, "And ten points from Gryffindor for lying. I shall see you tonight at 7pm sharp, or it shall be another detention." With that, Harry was allowed to return to his seat.

The class went quickly after that, and Harry, Ron, and Hermione managed to hand in a decent enough potion, even with Hermione stopping every few minutes to admonish them for their "stupid, idiotic, foolish, and downright moronic plan." Before too long however, they were clear of the dungeons and taking in the fresh outdoor air for a few minutes before Defense Against the Dark Arts.

* * *

By the time Harry's detention with Snape came around, he had almost forgotten about it, and only a timely reminder from Hermione had stopped him from picking up his new Nimbus 2000 and going out for a fly with Ron. Instead, he hurried down to the dungeons, where a stern Professor Snape was waiting for him. "Enter," called out a stern tone right as Harry raised his fist to knock on the classroom door, and he stepped inside to see Professor Snape standing next to a disorganized jumble of jars, containing all kinds of ingredients floating in various juices. Snape gestured at the shelves to his right, then handed Harry a diagram on a large sheet on parchment. "These jars need to be sorted and stacked onto the shelves as such," he stated, gesturing to the diagram. "I expect it done within the hour. And I shall be taking your wand as well." The professor held out his hand, into which Harry placed the holly wand, and then silently swept out, cloak billowing and snapping behind him as always. As the door swung shut, Harry sighed and got to work.

As Harry was working, Severus sat next door in his office, considering. He had been shocked at what he saw in Potter's short-term memory as he skimmed the boy's surface thoughts. Without the benefit of seeing things from Harry's point of view in the memory, Severus had been strongly reminded of Lily by the boy's actions. Lily had been fantastic with wandless magic, and without having to see the face of his schoolyard enemy, Severus felt fondness for the boy's actions. Nevertheless, he was Head of Slytherin House, and he had a reputation to uphold. So Severus had given the boy detention, and had then devised a detention to help train the boy to use this spectacular power. If Potter had more of his mother's brains than his father's, maybe he would even be able to figure this one out. And if all went to plan, nobody would ever know that Severus Snape had helped Harry Potter to learn a vital skill that might one day help him to defeat the Dark Lord. Because Severus Snape knew that one day the time would come that he would be called back to Lord Voldemort's service, and because of the mistakes of youth, on that day he would be obliged to answer.

* * *

Harry had blasted through the first couple of shelves, quickly finding the correct jars and placing them on the lower shelves in accordance to the diagram. The problem arose when trying to reach the top shelf, however. Harry was far too short to reach, and there was no stool in the room. He tried to move a desk or a bench to stand on, but all were seemingly bolted to the ground, and the chair usually behind Professor Snape's desk was missing. Harry sat down to think for a moment. Eventually, he came up with a plan, and put it into action. Mage Hand was only a cantrip, after all, and quite similar to the Levitation Charm that Harry had learned in Professor Flitwick's class. And while he had not previously had anything on which to base the verbal or somatic components of the spell, Hogwarts had provided.

* * *

When Severus returned to the classroom an hour later, he was pleased to see that Potter had managed to solve the task. All the jars were lined up neatly on the shelves from which he had removed them mere hours ago, even the top shelf, and Potter was sitting on one of the benches waiting. He looked at the boy, stern mask firmly in place, and reached out gently with his mind to brush against the waiting memories. He frowned, causing Potter to flinch. "You may go, Mr. Potter," Severus stated in a clipped tone, and held out the boy's wand. Potter grasped it quickly and hurried out. He would have to teach Potter non-verbal spells sooner rather than later, though the initial effort was laudable. It made Severus miss Lily all over again. It looked like tonight would be another late night in his study with an unhealthy quantity of brandy.

* * *

Harry felt like barely any time had passed since his detention by the time Ron was shaking him awake at a quarter to midnight. He had made it back to the Common Room and told Ron and Hermione about the strange detention, before him and Ron had excused themselves early to bed, 'forgetting' to tell Hermione about their nocturnal plans, as it was a given that she would disapprove. Harry pulled on his trainers and picked up his wand, before stealthily following Ron out of their dorm and then through the portrait hole of Gryffindor Tower out into the main part of the castle. They hastened along corridors and up staircases, through hidden passageways and behind tapestries, arriving at the Trophy Room right as the tower bell struck twelve. Harry pulled Ron into a darkened corner of the Trophy Room and waited there. Before long a flickering of light came down through one of the hallways and a lit tip of a wand protruded through the vestibule. Harry and Ron heard a harsh whisper in a boy's high-pitched voice. "Potter," the call came, "Potter, are you there? Or were you too cowardly to come along? I thought Gryffindor was the house of the brave," the voice, Draco Malfoy's of course, continued hastily, "but I guess not, so I'll be going now."

"Not so fast, Malfoy," Harry heard Ron hiss from behind him, louder than a whisper had any right to be. "Time to put your magic where your mouth is." And with that, Harry and Ron stepped out into the open.

"Very well," Malfoy replied. "I assume you don't know how a wizard's duel is conducted, given your lack of manners, Weasley, so you can't have instructed Potter either." At this, Harry realized that he probably should have done some research into dueling, but it had all gone so fast, he had hardly even had time to breathe, let alone learn to duel. Malfoy quickly explained the rules, magic only, no fists, and etiquette, and then the duel began.

Harry and Draco stood back to back, wands in hand, and Crabbe counted out the paces. On ten, they turned, and suddenly Harry's mind blanked as he stood, wand pointed at his opponent. "What, forgot all your magic?" Malfoy sneered, then slashed with his wand while quickly incanting a spell. Suddenly a jet of silvery light was flying towards Harry and he threw himself to the side, snapping out of the trance. Malfoy's spell crashed against a cabinet with what seemed a deafening din in the quiet of the castle, and the Slytherin quickly sent another spell at Harry, missing once again as the Gryffindor seeker dodged it.

Quickly, Harry retaliated. Slashing his wand at Malfoy he cried "_Frost_," and then "_Wingardium Leviosa_," swishing and flicking his wand at a heavy plinth just to the side of the pale boy. As Malfoy dodged the Ray of Frost, he ran headlong into the heavy stone plinth hovering slowly towards him, and bounced away dazed. Harry decided to make sure of the results and cast again, allowing his control over the plinth to slip. As the heavy stone object crashed to the ground, he whipped his wand at Malfoy and cast quickly, "_Daze_." As it had on Halloween, a sickly yellow light sprang forth, but this time it had a clear effect on contact with its victim, sending Malfoy into an uncontrolled sway that quickly became a swoon. The boy hit the ground moments later. Harry had no time to celebrate his victory, however, as Ron tugged on his sleeve and hissed, "Filch is coming," gesturing towards flickering lantern light bouncing off the walls, rapidly approaching. Harry and Ron turned tail and bolted into the corridor on the opposite side of the room, hastily making their way back towards Gryffindor tower and into bed.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Thanks for reading! I know that it has been a month since the last chapter, and I hope that it will not be a month until the next. For updates on any of my projects, please check out my author's page. I have started logging my progress there. As usual, JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. This is a known fact.


	12. The Lion and the Serpent

**Chapter 12: The Lion and the Serpent**

Severus had barely slipped beneath the covers of his bed when a loud banging on the door to his private quarters roused him. He groaned, recognizing the sound. Only one person would bang on his door like that, at this time of night, the same person who had done so countless times over the past twelve years that Severus had been a Hogwarts professor. And it meant that one of his Slytherins had been caught out of bed. Taking his wand from his bedside, Severus quickly and roughly transfigured his bedclothes into a passable simulacrum of his usual black robes, and then schooled his features before striding out of his bedchamber into the adjoining office, and from there to the office door, which he pulled open, coming unsurprisingly face to face with Argus Filch.

"Found two o' yer students out of bed, oh yes I did," cackled the caretaker. "Be sure to punish them well, Pr'fessor Snape. I can lend you some of my _tools_ if you'd like," the old man laughed, before breaking into a coughing fit.

"That will not be necessary, thank you Argus," the Potions Master replied. "I shall see to their discipline, however. Thank you for bringing this to my attention." With that dismissal, the old squib shuffled away, and Severus turned his gaze on the two squirming students doing their level best to blend in with the smooth stone of the hallway. Vincent Crabbe and Draco Malfoy. Well, Severus didn't think it should be too hard to guess which of the two was responsible. "Crabbe," he snapped. "Detention every night next week. Now go to bed _immediately_. If you are not asleep within five minutes I shall add another week. Go." Severus smirked on the inside to see how quickly the first-year responded to his command, moving faster than a boy of his size had any right to, and probably faster than he ever had previously. He turned to the other boy, who quailed under his gaze. "So, Draco, come in," he said, softly yet dangerously.

Soon Severus had learned everything that he needed to know about the night's activities. The mere threat of placing a Floo call to his dear friend Lucius, Draco's father, had cracked the boy's already weakening resolve, and the Malfoy heir had spilled everything. As he was doing so, Severus scanned the boy's surface level memories with exceeding care, both to corroborate the story and to satisfy his own curiosity, without triggering Draco's fledgling occlumency defenses. Once the story was over, Severus threatened his friend's son with dire consequences should such a foolish course of action be repeated, and treated him to a lecture of significant length on the nature of being a Slytherin. Eventually he kicked the boy out to go to bed, though not before also giving Draco a string of detentions.

Finally alone again, Severus allowed his transfigured robes to shift back to the more comfortable bedclothes and slumped into his office chair to think. Memories were hardly a reliable source of information, he mused. Even those given willingly and not scavenged by illicit legilimency only reflected the understanding of the memory's originator. The older one got, the more aware of their surroundings they were, the more powerful their magic, such people could create strong memories, even managing to pull in aspects of their surroundings that they had not been conscious of at the time. But the memory of a young boy, not yet grown into his magical potential, in a time of stress such as a duel, was unlikely to remember more than a blur and some simplistic events. And so it had been with Draco. The only thing that Severus could truly glean was that while Potter didn't start the fight, he had certainly finished it, and ruthlessly, before Draco could even react. Kindness, but an unparalleled survival instinct, with no hesitation once he or his friends were attacked. Just like his mother. Severus supposed tonight would be another night that he did not sleep.

* * *

Harry and Ron slept like the dead once they finally made it back to Gryffindor tower, and were woken by Hermione, of all people, shaking first Harry and then Ron awake, with the admonishment that breakfast was already over and that they had Potions in twenty minutes. The two boys rolled out of bed immediately and raced to class. Amazingly, Snape, while grumpy and sour as usual, did not seem in any mood to say more than necessary, and potions went smoothly, especially as Malfoy refused even to look in the direction of the two Gryffindor boys. Hermione could tell something strange was happening, but couldn't put her finger on what. The rest of the day proceeded in typical fashion, and as was Harry's habit on a Friday afternoon, the three of them went to visit Hagrid during their free period, Harry leading the way. When they got close to Hagrid's hut, however, Harry and Hermione were surprised to see the curtains drawn all around and more than a little smoke pouring from the chimney. Ron had never previously visited, due to the newness of the friendship, and so didn't realize anything was out of the ordinary.

Harry had to bang on Hagrid's door a few times before the groundskeeper opened it, inching the door open only a crack until he could see through. "Ah," said Hagrid, "It's yeh two. And a Weasley? Alrigh' well, come in, quickly, and don' let anyone see yeh!" The three of them bundled quickly inside, and instantly started sweating. "Hagrid," began Hermione strictly, "why is it so hot in here?"  
Harry couldn't tell if the friendly gamekeeper blushed, or if it was just the heat of the room that made his face pink and sweaty, but the large man looked around as if for any distraction before finally gesturing to the fireplace. "I, uh, I may have gotten meself a dragon egg," he eventually confessed, more than a little hesitantly.

"Bloody hell," swore Ron, and only a moment later Hermione began to lecture Hagrid on the illegality of raising a dragon. Harry tuned out the conversation, and refocused once the other two moved past the shock and Hagrid began to pass around cups of tea and a plate of rock cakes that he had baked. Harry looked at Ron and raised an eyebrow as the other boy bit greedily into the solid pastry. Harry nibbled at his more carefully, with the benefit of experience, and mused that perhaps Hagrid had taken the 'rock' part of rock cakes rather too seriously as Ron yelped in pain. Thankfully, the redhead covered his shock graciously and Hagrid didn't even notice the problem. The four of them spent a happy hour or so together, though Harry did notice Hermione glance at the egg in the fireplace more than once with a certain look in her eye. Harry and Hermione caught Hagrid up on their recent activities, and Hagrid got to know Ron a little better. It turned out that Hagrid was more than familiar with a few of Ron's brothers, and discussion about them was enlightening to Harry and Hermione as well, who knew Fred, George and Percy to an extent, but had never met Charlie or Bill. Eventually it was time for dinner and before long for bed.

Harry had barely taken a step into the Gryffindor common room when he was accosted by Oliver Wood. "Potter," the Quidditch team captain barked, "Bed, now! We need you well rested for the game against Slytherin tomorrow. McGonagall's counting on us to start strong with a win." With a shock, Harry suddenly realized that he had forgotten completely about the Quidditch game the following day. What with the incident with the troll, detention with Snape, and a duel against Malfoy, something as trivial as his first competitive Quidditch match had completely slipped his mind. Clearly though, Wood did not see it as trivial at all, so Harry hastened to bed.

* * *

Harry woke up as the first rays of morning sunlight filtered through the curtains in the first-year boys' dormitory. Suddenly he felt very ill down to his stomach as all the nerves he hadn't dealt with over the past week came rushing to the fore in the quiet dormitory. Harry yawned and stretched, then curled into a ball and tried to sleep again to escape the nerves.

Thirty minutes later saw the hangings on Harry's four-poster bed swept aside by a pair of red-headed Beaters. All of a sudden Harry found himself on the ground, being hoisted to his feet, and rapidly dressed in some of his casual weekend wear. Looking around, he saw the other twin doing the same to a bleary-eyed Ron, before both were swept down to the Great Hall for breakfast.

Hermione was already there waiting for them, and a look of concern ghosted across her face as she looked at Harry. "You look awfully pale," she said, "Are you alright?"  
Harry nodded. "Just nerves," he grunted out, before staring at the empty plate in front of him as if willing it to go away. Ron nudged him with his elbow. "Cheer up, Harry," he said, "You get to go beat up more Slytherins in a couple of hours!"  
Harry groaned as Hermione looked up sharply. "What do you mean _more_ Slytherins?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "Harry James Potter…" she began, then broke off at the look of horror on Harry's face. "Well, I suppose you don't need me adding to your nerves now, do you? But I'm not going to forget about it, and if you want me to drop it for now, you'd better start eating something, you'll need your strength for the game."  
"What's the point," Harry muttered churlishly to Ron, "I'm only going to throw it up anyway." But he caught Hermione's eye, and at the look she gave him promptly started shoveling food into his mouth.

"Don't worry mate," Ron attempted to reassure him again, "As soon as you're up in the air you'll forget all about the nerves." Harry smiled tightly at his friend in appreciation, then continued to shovel food in his mouth. As Wood called the team together to head over to the locker room, Harry looked Hermione dead in the eye. "I'm sure Ron would love to tell you _why_ we were dueling Slytherins while you wait for the game to start," he said sweetly, then ran to join his team as fast as he possibly could. Alone now with Hermione, Ron paled. "I guess you could say it was my fault," the redhead began.

* * *

In the Gryffindor locker room, the hubbub had finally died down. Fred and George had played a quick prank on their teammates to "start the season off right," and then after that they had all had to change into their Quidditch uniforms and collect their brooms, and after that came the obligatory chatter between the teammates. Oliver had been cognizant of this, however, which was why he had gathered them so early, and therefore by the time the hubbub died down, there was still plenty of time for the final tactical meeting and team talk. Oliver raced through a number of tactical points for every player on the team, and then launched into the motivation. "This is it," he began, standing up and stepping onto the table, voice raised, "the big one,"

"That's what she said," interjected Fred,

"Not to you she didn't," shot back Angelina, to laughter from the other two chasers as well as Fred's twin, prompting Oliver to bark out orders to quiet them down.

"Anyway, as I was saying," Oliver continued, "this is the big one," at this Fred snickered once again, "and we have to be ready. Slytherin have won the cup every year since before I even started here. Now's the time to change that. We have two maniacal and seemingly telepathic Beaters, three amazing Chasers, and the youngest Seeker in a century,"  
"Not to mention the Keeper with the most saves last year from any House," Alicia added, flashing a smile at Oliver,

"Yes, yes, that too," Oliver acknowledged, "So it's time to get out there and show Slytherin what we're made of. Let's go!" The team cheered and raced out towards the entrance to the Quidditch pitch, where they mounted their brooms, lined up by number. Suddenly Harry became aware of the noise rolling over them from the stands. It sounded like the whole school must be there, and then some, cheering, chanting for their favorite players and jeering the opposing house. Fortunately, he didn't have too long to think about it, as the commentary started moments later. He recognized the commentator as Lee Jordan, an older student in Gryffindor moments, the Slytherin team had been announced, Harry focusing on the names of captain and Chaser Marcus Flint and his opposing Seeker, Terence Higgs.

"And now the team for your favorites today, Gryffindor House," Lee Jordan announced to wild cheers from the Gryffindors in the stands, and deafening boos from the Slytherins. "Captain and Keeper, Oliver Wood. The incredible Beaters, the Weasley Twins, Fred playing as number 2, and George as number 3. Put your hands together for Chasers Alicia Spinnet, the beautiful Angelina Johnson, and little Katie Bell. And last, but certainly not least, the youngest seeker in a century, the Boy-who-lived, Saviour of the Wizarding World,"  
"Jordan," growled a voice harry could have sworn he recognized,

"Sorry Professor. I give you, Seeker, Harry Potter!" Harry kicked off on his Nimbus 2000 and blasted out of the tunnel, speeding along to catch up to Katie's broom. As Oliver led the team on a warm-up lap of the field, Harry peered into the crowd to try to spot familiar faces. His face lit up as he saw Hagrid in the stands, and he waved at the burly groundskeeper, before noticing Hermione and Ron hurrying into the stadium to stand next to Hagrid. He waved at them too before following his team around to land in the center of the field. Some not-so-pleasant pleasantries took place between Wood, Flint, and the stern flying instructor Madam Hooch, and all of a sudden the game was in motion. Harry kicked off and flew high into the air, and began circling high above the play, searching for any glimpse of the snitch.

As Harry circled, he listened to Lee Jordan's commentary. The older boy was certainly not ashamed of the partisan way in which he announced the plays, including his comments on certain players' character traits or personality quirks. "And then," Harry heard Lee launch into another anecdote, "I asked Higgs to pass me the snitch so I could use it in my potion, and he said he'd never be able to catch one to give to me." This comment was met with raucous laughter by three-quarters of the student population, and yet again deafening boos from the Slytherin contingent. Though he would not admit it, Harry was secretly impressed by how loyally the Slytherins defended their housemates. Every comment made, every pass missed, every goal scored, the Slytherins were unified in their response, either raucous cheering or overwhelming boos.

It didn't take long for Harry to get bored with looking for the snitch and listening to the commentary while hovering high above the play. Disregarding Oliver's advice, he began to descend, dropping lower and lower, first to the level of Terence Higgs, the opposing seeker, and then further down, barely above the plane of play of the seekers. From this lower vantage, Harry realized that he needed to spend more time turning and twisting his broom to search for the snitch. But as he heard Lee comment "And that's another interception for the talented Spinnet, the complete witch with only a single flaw, that she won't go on a date with me," and at this the crowd laughed and jeered yet again, "and Spinnet puts it to the side of Bletchley, a no doubter there for Gryffindor who lead by seventy goals to thirty," Harry spotted the snitch. He wasted no time urging his broom towards it, leaving Higgs far behind, and became a scarlet and gold blur as he sped towards the winged gold ball. "It looks like Potter's seen the Snitch," announced Lee, "And he's closing in, the speed of that Nimbus 2000 will be giving the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Seekers nightmares for weeks, might as well quit now lads, and Potter banks his broom, nice turn there, and he's reaching out," Harry tuned Lee out as he focused on the fluttering gold ball just inches from his fingertips.

BANG! Harry shook his head to find himself in the stands, the emerald-clad Marcus Flint lying on top of him. Harry shook his head to clear the ringing from his ears, but a shrill whistling sound would not go away. Eventually he realized that it actually was a whistle, of Madam Hooch calling a foul. Gryffindor would have a penalty shot, but Harry had missed out on catching the snitch, which would have ended the game for a massive Gryffindor win. Harry felt his blood begin to boil with the unfairness of the situation. Calling his broom to his hand, Harry launched back into the air, ignoring everything as he searched for a hint of gold. More than one student in the stands was terrified by the sight of the Gryffindor Seeker bursting towards them in a rush of speed before pulling out, recognizing the glint as from a wristwatch or necklace. Meanwhile, with Flint forced to be on his best behaviour following a stern final warning from Madam Hooch, Gryffindor began to rack up the score. "One-hundred and eighty to sixty," Lee Jordan told the crowd with relish after the Gryffindor chasers put together another move with training ground precision to score. "It looks like Higgs is just following Potter now, hoping the younger Seeker will lead him to the snitch, very Slytherin move there, having someone else do the work and you take the credit,"  
"Jordan," intoned Professor McGonagall, seemingly fighting between disappointment at the immature commentary and pleasure at her house's performance.

"And Potter's seen the Snitch! He's on his way, and Higgs just can't keep up!"

Harry leaned forward on his broom, urging it to greater and greater speed as he flew. This time the glint of gold would not elude him. He dived, rolled, turned to follow the golden ball's erratic movements, rolled again to dodge a bludger, then stretched out his hand once again. Moments later, the golden ball was nestled within it, and the crowd erupted with cheers. Harry didn't even manage to make it to the ground before being encircled by his teammates. Congratulations were offered and received all round, ending with Fred and George crying in unison "Party in the Common Room!"

* * *

The party in the common room went on and on, so it didn't take long for Harry, Hermione, and Ron to slip away to Harry and Ron's dormitory. Hermione led off by squeezing Harry into a tight hug. "I'm so proud of you," she squealed, "You were amazing, I was so scared when you got hit by that awful Flint, but you kept going and you caught the snitch! You were great!"  
"Yes mate," agreed Ron. "Absolutely bloody fantastic! That's the second troll you've beaten now," he chortled, and Harry and Hermione joined in on the laughter. Certainly nobody could be accused of calling Marcus Flint pretty, and that was before the Slytherin captain crashed his broom into a stand at full speed. "Anyway, I spoke to Hermione about the whole duel thing, and we're okay,"  
"As long as you never, ever do it again, Harry," Hermione interjected. "That was dangerous, and silly, and you could have been caught. Anyway, that explains why Malfoy was acting so strangely yesterday. I wonder if Filch caught him. Do you think Professor Snape would punish him even if he did? He doesn't seem to have the same standards for Slytherins as he has for the rest of us." Harry thought about mentioning what he had noticed about Slytherin house unity during the match, but decided against it, and soon conversation moved onto lighter topics. Finally, when the struggle to keep their eyes open became too much, Hermione traipsed across the now thoroughly littered common room to her own dorm, while Harry and Ron quickly changed and got into bed. Sleep came quickly.


	13. A Very Hogwarts Yule

**Chapter 13: A Very Hogwarts Yule**

After the game against Slytherin, and the ensuing party in the Gryffindor Common Room, time passed quickly. Never satisfied, Oliver Wood somehow managed to _increase _the amount of time the Gryffindor team spent practicing, even as the days grew colder and the nights longer. Along with that, it seemed that all of the professors had individually decided that the first-years were now acclimated enough to Hogwarts, and the homework load seemingly doubled overnight. Harry, Ron, and Hermione grew even closer, to the occasional exclusion of their yearmates, and before long were spending all their waking hours together except when Harry would go to Quidditch practice or to one of his frequent detentions with Snape.

Time passed so quickly that he was surprised one day at breakfast by Professor McGonagall asking him if he would be returning home for the holiday or staying at Hogwarts. With no desire to visit the Dursleys and be a distant second best to Dudley, Harry responded immediately that he would stay, and was gratified to find out that the Weasleys would also be staying, although he was disappointed when Hermione mentioned that she would be going home.

Before long the time came, and all of a sudden Harry and Ron found themselves almost completely alone in the normally bustling castle. Of the whole Gryffindor House, the Weasley twins and Percy were the only others who remained. Percy spent all his time in his room studying, or as Fred and George said, 'polishing his wand', and the twins were always out and about. Harry and Ron were very much left to their own devices, and took to wandering the corridors aimlessly. They went to visit Hagrid from time to time as well, but the friendly gamekeeper was much more cagey now that the dragon egg was showing signs of being near hatching, and the heat in Hagrid's hut was so sweltering that they rarely stayed long. Except at meals, the only other sign of life in the castle was Draco Malfoy, who Harry caught staring from time to time, but who never approached them, a distinct change from the first half of the term. All in all, they had a grand time, and Harry was pleased to encounter neither Professor Snape nor Professor Quirrell, and they even managed to avoid the grouchy Argus Filch.

Christmas morning arrived with a thud and a scream, as Ron threw himself onto the mattress of Harry's four-poster bed and yelled "Wake up! Presents!"  
Harry groaned and rolled over, muttering "whatever." While the Dursleys typically gave him some second-hand trinket or an old toy or book of Dudley's, Harry was now fully out of sight and out of mind, and he doubted they would send anything at all. However, once he finally sat up and fished for his glasses, he was surprised to see a small pile of neatly wrapped presents at the foot of his bed. He smiled happily, and roused himself to investigate, pulling on his dressing gown as he did so. Ron's pile had already been decimated, with wrapping paper strewn around the base of his friend's bed, the other boy peering curiously now at Harry's small pile. Reverently, Harry picked up the present on top, neatly wrapped in paper covered in snowflakes. He gingerly pried it open, popping the sellotape away from the wrapping paper at the joins, and slid out a thin book. Ron groaned.

"She got you one too?" Ron grumbled. "She sure loves her homework, Hermione Granger does." Harry smiled gently. While Ron would surely complain, Harry recognized that Hermione's gift showed how much she valued their friendship, and he knew that deep down Ron realized it too. He placed the book to one side, then considered his remaining presents. Two more were neatly wrapped, one in brown paper, the other in silver, both bulky, and there was also a smaller gift, crudely wrapped in what appeared to be an old copy of the Daily Prophet, the wizarding newspaper. Harry went for the smallest one first, tearing into it when he could find no neater way to open it, the bulk of Spell-o-tape used to secure it preventing him from any simple strategy. Inside was a rough, hand-carved wooden flute, and a note from Mr. Hagrid wishing Harry a very merry Christmas. Harry gulped down a wave of tears threatening to spill over from the thoughtful gift, and showed it to Ron, who seemed curious but not overly impressed.

After resolving to visit Hagrid and thank him profusely for the gift, Harry selected the next gift in the pile, the bulky gift in the silver packaging. It was soft to the touch, and quite a sizable rectangular package. Slipping it open, he pulled out a huge sheet of soft, silvery fabric.

"What do you think this is?" He asked, holding it up to Ron.

"I dunno, mate," the ginger boy replied through a mouthful of Cauldron Cakes. Maybe it's a fancy cloak? Who sent it to you?"  
Harry checked for a note. Discreetly secured to the package was a small parchment on which was written in flowing script '_Your father left this in my possession before he died. Use it well._' No signature was given. Harry held the note out to Ron, who took it and began to read, while Harry decided to try on his new cloak, pulling it tight around his shoulders. He wondered if he looked like his father, wearing it now. As he was about to walk towards a mirror to look at himself, he heard a strangled yelp from Ron, now behind him. When he turned to look, the other boy's eyes were wide, and he motioned for Harry to look down.

With shock, Harry noticed that his body was no longer visible. He shook off the cloak quickly and watched his body rematerialize, then raised an eyebrow at his friend. "That's an invisibility cloak," Ron whispered reverently. "I've heard of those. They're super rare, and really expensive. You can't tell anyone you've got one, especially not the twins. Or the professors," he added as an afterthought. "This was your dad's?"  
"I guess so," Harry replied. "That's what the note says. I wonder who it's from?"  
"Could be anyone, mate," Ron replied wisely, "I bet your dad knew a bunch of people, I know my dad does. He's got all kinds of people he knows at work and stuff. Anyway, I can't wait to try that cloak out! We should sneak around the school all night tonight," he said with a grin.

Harry grinned back, then quickly tucked the cloak away in his trunk. Not a moment too soon, as Fred and George Weasley burst in at that moment, wearing matching sweaters, bulky, woolen and blue, with large yellow initials on the front, an 'F' and a 'G'. "Merry Christmas, boys!" The twins yelled, as they marched towards Harry and their brother, intent on inspecting Ron's pile of gifts. "Ronniekins, why aren't you wearing your jumper?"

Not for the first time that morning, Ron groaned. "It's maroon," he whinged. "She always makes mine maroon, even though she knows I don't like it."

The twins affected looks of false sympathy for a moment before declaring that Ron really had little choice in the matter, and that unless he had suddenly grown a desire to be the butt of all of their pranks, he had probably best put on his jumper. One of the twins, George, if Harry was not mistaken, though he was wearing the letter 'F' jumper, explained to Harry _sotto voce_ that the jumpers were a Weasley family tradition, handknitted by their mother, and that they got them every year. Harry grinned as they made Ron put on his jumper, though he felt a twinge of envy, not having family traditions of his own, nor anyone to share them with.

"Right then boys," one of the Weasley twins announced loudly, the moment Ron had his jumper on, "to breakfast, let us make haste!"

"Wait," said Ron hurriedly, "Harry's still got one present left!" At that, the twins turned to Harry and motioned urgently for him to unwrap it. He did so, and underneath the neat brown paper he discovered a packet of homemade fudge and his very own Weasley jumper, green with a golden snitch embroidered on the front. The twins whistled as tears sprang to Harry's eyes, and he resolved to write the nicest thank you letter of his life to Mrs. Weasley. "Wow," said Ron, "I reckon she likes you more than she likes us." With that, the three Weasleys and Harry headed down to breakfast.

* * *

Once in the Great Hall, the three Gryffindors ran into Percy, _sans_ Weasley jumper, much to the dismay of Fred and George, who, once everyone had eaten their fill, chased the eldest Weasley back to his room to change, and once properly outfitted, they dragged Percy, Ron, and Harry out onto the grounds for 'family time'. This mainly comprised of being buried under mountains of snow and fleeing from vengeful snowballs hurled by the twins, but they had a great time laughing, panting, and joking together. Later on they retired to the Gryffindor common room, where Percy and Ron played wizard's chess by the fire, barking out orders to their animated pieces, as Harry lounged on one of the sofas with a pile of books, and the twins muttered quietly to each other by the stairs, occasionally darting up and down the stairs to secretively retrieve pouches and slips of parchment. Eventually Harry dozed off, and was only woken up just in time for dinner.

Dinner was a somewhat awkward affair. While the tables in the Great Hall were laden with delicious food, far superior in quality and quantity to what Harry received at the Dursleys', there were barely any students there to eat it. The decorations were just as magical as they had been at Halloween, with huge icicles hanging from the stonework and a soft, magical snowfall that dissipated just before landing on the tables or on the ground. The fire roared in the great stone fireplace, and the tables were laden with magical Christmas crackers containing all kinds of fantastic gifts. Harry even won his very own wizards' chess set from one, though his new pieces immediately looked at him with suspicion, as if they knew already how poor a player he was. Yet there was too little joy or mirth in the Hall. The Head Table was nearly as empty as the Gryffindor table, with Hagrid joined only by Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Snape, the latter of whom was certainly not in the Christmas spirit. Hufflepuff's table was somewhat more lively, but they still had a small contingent barely into double figures. Ravenclaw had by far the most students at dinner, yet they were mostly fifth and seventh years, and not one of them was talking, rather preferring the company of their books and scrolls. And Slytherin's table held only one occupant, and the platinum blond boy seemed unenthused by the quality of the meal, and even more so by the company.

Even Fred and George couldn't keep the conversation going forever, and by the time the main course vanished from the table to be replaced by dessert, Percy seemed ready to join the Ravenclaws, muttering about lost opportunities for studying under his breath. The twins had long since stopped paying attention to their brothers and Harry, and Harry was pretty sure he'd seen the flash of a Dungbomb changing hands when they thought nobody was looking. Ron had gotten bored pretty soon after they'd made their way through all of the Christmas crackers, and had even managed to eat enough to satiate his enormous appetite. Thus Harry was very grateful when the dessert appeared, and quickly shovelled a massive slice of treacle tart onto his plate, just to give himself something to do.

Beside him, Ron groaned. "More food? I can't believe it," he complained, "how can they give us more food now?" Of course, this gripe didn't stop the youngest redhead from loading up a plate with profiteroles, trifle, and sticky toffee pudding. "I wish there were more of those crackers," he mumbled through a mouthful of food, "they had some dead good stuff in them."

As Ron spoke, a thought came to Harry. "Well," he spoke cautiously, choosing his words, "there are more crackers, and we could go pull them, I think the person who has them at the moment is looking a little lonely and could use some cheering up."

"Well let's go cheer them up then," Ron exclaimed, pushing away the remnants of his dessert. "Who is it?"

Harry paused for a second. "Uh, it's Malfoy." Ron gaped at him.

"Malfoy? You want to go pull Christmas crackers with Malfoy? Have you gone mental?" Harry shrugged at his friend.

"Just a suggestion mate. He really does look like he could use cheering up," he said, and turned back to his treacle tart. He didn't know why, but for some reason he was disappointed at his friend's reaction. Certainly, Malfoy had spent most of the term being a prick, but he was no worse than Dudley, or even Fred and George at their worst, and in this moment he was lonely on Christmas Day, just as Harry had been many times. Ron groaned again, louder this time, shocking Harry out of his reverie.

"Fine," Ron said, "but if this goes badly I'm never letting you forget it." And so the two friends stood up and started walking towards the Slytherin table.

* * *

It would be impossible to know who in the Great Hall was most shocked when Harry Potter, Ron Weasley in tow, approached Draco Malfoy, and without a single insult, without wands being drawn, without harsh words or stony faces, picked up a Christmas cracker from the Slytherin table and held it out to the blond boy with a "Merry Christmas, Draco." Was it Percy Weasley, his attention dragged away from his dessert by his brothers? Was it Minerva McGonagall, looking down from the Head Table, or Severus Snape, seated next to her? Even a number of the Ravenclaw students, in their exam years, were intrigued enough to look away from their books. And yet even this shock paled in comparison to the sheer disbelief on all but two faces in the room when Draco Malfoy reached out his hand and closed it around the free end of the cracker, pulling firmly. Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore merely locked eyes for a moment.

BANG! Went the cracker and a paper crown shot out, which Harry snagged with his free hand, followed by a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans, which landed directly in Ron's waiting arms. Harry laid down his end of the cracker and smoothed out the paper crown, before placing it on his head, and looking directly at Malfoy. At this point the hall was silent, everyone enraptured by the scene, waiting to see how it would play out. Tension lingered in the air for a moment, and then yet another moment, before Malfoy finally spoke. "Happy Christmas, Potter," he spoke quietly in a clipped tone, much unlike his usual confident drawl, "and you as well, I suppose, Weasley. You may keep those beans if you wish," he added, "I have plenty of my own." Ron gaped at him for a moment, uncertain whether to be touched or insulted, then shook his head quickly, as if to clear it, before picking up a cracker of his own and holding it out to Malfoy, who, once again took it, and this time it was Draco Malfoy who snagged the paper crown out of the air and placed it ever so gently onto his own perfectly coiffed hair.

At the Head Table, a tear rolled slowly down the cheek of Minerva McGonagall, and yet nobody in the whole hall noticed.

Unaware of the effect that their actions were having on the rest of the hall, the three first year boys suddenly raced up and down the Slytherin table, collecting and pulling all the remaining crackers, and stuffing their robe pockets with all the loot. Ron ended up wearing a paper crown as well, and by the time they were done, all the other tables had lost interest, and had re-engaged with their desserts. Harry and Ron plopped themselves down opposite Malfoy and Ron cracked open the box of Every Flavour Beans, handing one at random to both of the other boys. Within seconds, Harry was doubled over retching, complaining about mushrooms, while Malfoy sat serenely chewing on what he said was "Foie Gras". Ron took one for himself, delighting in the taste of lemonade. Once Harry recovered, they did it again, and again, and again until Professor Dumbledore rose from his seat to announce the end of the meal. As the two Gryffindors got up to leave, on impulse Draco stuck out his right hand towards them, and one after the other, Ron and Harry took it, and shook solemnly.

* * *

"I can't believe that really happened," Ron said to Harry as they entered their dormitory in Gryffindor tower.

"I know, mate, me neither," Harry replied. "He seems likeable enough though, doesn't he, without all the other Slytherins around and when he's not being insulting."

Ron nodded slowly. "He's still a bit insulting, but I don't think he meant it. And his face was hilarious when he got that chili pepper bean! He went so red, and he drank the entire pitcher of pumpkin juice." Both boys broke down laughing at the memory, then started to get ready for bed.

Having brushed his teeth and put on his pyjamas, Harry began to crawl into his four-poster bed when he remembered something. Lying at the foot of his bed, just inside his trunk, was his father's invisibility cloak. Stepping away from his hangings he went and opened the trunk, pulling out the silvery material, letting it flow through his hands, in awe of the delicate smoothness of the fabric. Turning around, he saw Ron at the door to the bathroom, looking at him. He grinned at his friend. "Hey, you want to go see what Filch is up to?" Ron grinned back, and the two boys huddled under the cloak and stepped quietly out of the room.

Harry and Ron wandered the halls for hours under the cloak, turning down unknown corridors and exploring all the staircases and corridors they could find. They saw the suspicious eyes of Mrs. Norris, the caretaker's cat, on more than one occasion, but the cat could never seem to quite discover them under the cloak. Filch, the caretaker, came past a time or two, but seemed even more oblivious than his cat to the two students under the cloak. Eventually, the time came that the two boys could hardly keep their eyes open any longer, and they retired to Gryffindor Tower, waking the clearly intoxicated Fat Lady to give the password, and headed straight to bed. Harry tucked his father's cloak away carefully, put on his Weasley jumper, and crawled under the covers, letting sleep take him.

* * *

**Author's Note: **It has been a long time coming. It's hard to believe it's been nearly 4 months since the last chapter, and I apologize for that. I've been dealing with my mental health and other issues, and while I certainly have had the time to write, the time and the inclination have been struggling to coincide. However, it should be well under a month before the next update (hahahahahahahahahahahaha I hope).


	14. The Man in the Mirror

**Chapter 14: The Man in the Mirror**

Barely had Harry had the chance to greet Hermione on the return of students to the school at the end of the Christmas Holidays when he was accosted by Oliver Wood, by all appearances a man possessed. "Potter," Wood bellowed, a vivid juxtaposition to the merrily crackling fire and the joyous sounds of friends greeting each other, "Weasley, Weasley! Get your gear on, time for practice!" Harry's head swiveled around, bespectacled eyes meeting the twins' blank stares, over the shoulder of an outraged Lee Jordan. Harry flinched as Hermione wrapped him in a strong hug, then laughed as Ron tackled her from behind, and muttered an apology as he ran towards the stairs to get his broom from the boys' dormitory.

Almost before he knew it, Harry was back in the swing of things in the new term. Quidditch practices were still too long, Charms classes too easy, and Potions classes too annoying. Professor Snape continued to hand out detentions at the slightest justification, and Hermione continued to visit the library at the slightest justification.

The second Quidditch match of the season came and went, with Gryffindor completing a comparatively easy victory against what seemed to be the dregs of the Hufflepuff upper years. By the time Harry caught the Snitch from a lazy dive, the game was already out of sight, with Angelina Johnson having scored over a hundred points alone. The celebration in the Gryffindor common room that night had been more interesting than the game itself.

The days lengthened and the teachers began to assign more homework as the Easter holidays came and went, with the end of year exams coming closer and closer. The final weekend before the exams was also the final Quidditch weekend, and on the Friday, Harry went to bed early to prepare for the following day's game.

Elsewhere in the castle, Albus Dumbledore looked up from his papers at the sound of a tapping on the window. Standing from his desk, he crossed the room, and pulled open the window, allowing a non-descript post owl inside. Taking the note from its leg, the old headmaster unfurled the slip of paper and swore. With a swish of the wand, his nightclothes became sturdy robes, and he began to walk towards the castle gate. When the Minister for Magic demanded one's attention, one did not do well to delay. It almost invariably meant that Cornelius Fudge was moments away from making a terrible decision, and Albus Dumbledore did not want to let that happen.

* * *

Harry awoke with a start, to find himself incarcerated in what appeared to be a small basement room, bound by ropes, with a large mirror and Professor Quirrell mumbling, seemingly to himself, something about stones and masters. Harry had barely had time to collect his thoughts, realize that he wasn't dreaming, and start to panic, when Quirrell turned to him. "Potter," the professor sneered, no trace of a stutter, "so kind of you to join us. It was some task getting you here without anyone noticing, but my Master seems to think you will be of use, so tell me, Potter, what do you see when you look in this mirror?"

Unknown to Professor Quirrell, he had not been as subtle as he had thought. With no plan of remaining at Hogwarts after the night's escapades, neither Lord Voldemort nor Quirinus Quirrell had considered what would happen when the school noticed Harry Potter missing. And nobody other than his brothers knew that Ron Weasley suffered from regular nightmares, and would frequently wake up during the night. After all, who paid attention to Ron Weasley?

When Ron awoke and noticed the hangings drawn back on Harry's bed, with Harry not inside, he instantly knew something was afoot. The final match of the Quidditch season was tomorrow, Harry was Gryffindor's star player, and there was nothing in the world more important than winning the Quidditch Cup. Once he'd checked the bathroom and the common room, and seen that the Invisibility Cloak was still in Harry's trunk, Ron had no choice but to panic. Which meant that at the very moment that Quirinus Quirrell had been playing a modified King's Indian Attack against an autonomous chessboard, Ron Weasley had been pounding down Professor McGonagall's door. And long before the inevitable checkmate, a silvery, pearlescent cat had leapt from Professor McGonagall's wand, headed directly for London. As Quirinus Quirrell cast a flame-freezing charm on Severus Snape's cursed fire, neatly solving the riddle within a riddle, Albus Dumbledore appeared with a crack outside the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

And as Albus Dumbledore ran towards the entrance of his school, Professor Quirrell explained to Harry Potter exactly what he needed, Harry Potter looked into the Mirror of Erised, and thought only of keeping the Philosopher's Stone away from Lord Voldemort, and cast the first level Transmutation spell _Animate Rope_.

The ropes binding him slid away as Harry raced for the doorway, only to pull up short as he noticed the flames wreathing it. Turning, he looked directly into the red eyes of Lord Voldemort, now in full possession of his professor's body. Lord Voldemort held out his hand for the Philosopher's Stone weighing down Harry's pocket, and with the flippance that only the knowledge of one's own impending certain death can provide, Harry reached out his own hand and grasped the Dark Lord's hand to shake it, pretending comedic confusion. Suffice it to say, Lord Voldemort was not amused. And Lord Voldemort was certainly not amused when his borrowed hand began to blister and burn at the contact. Neither was Harry Potter, but Harry was outclassed in every way, and his only possible lifeline was to use this newfound ability to put Lord Voldemort in too much pain to have the time to bother killing him. So a screaming Harry Potter wrapped a screaming Lord Voldemort in a tight bear hug, which is how Albus Dumbledore found them moments later as Quirrell's body crumbled into ash, and Harry Potter's mind tumbled into unconsciousness.

* * *

The sounds of Gryffindor's heartwrenching loss to Ravenclaw, with second year Cho Chang rescuing Ravenclaw from a 140 point deficit with a timely Snitch catch were the background to Harry finally waking up in the Hospital Wing. He fumbled for his glasses, and once he had them on and was able to focus his eyes, he noticed Professor Dumbledore snoozing in a plush armchair at the foot of his bed.

"Uh, Professor?" Harry asked gently, waking the Headmaster.

"Ah, Harry, my boy!" Professor Dumbledore replied, eyes glinting above his glasses. "I'm glad to see you awake, though I doubt Mr. Wood will be so pleased after you left him with no Seeker for today's game."  
"Professor!" Harry interrupted, heart racing "the Philosopher's Stone! Is it safe?"

"Ah yes, indeed, and I must congratulate you most heartily, young man. It was a brave and foolish thing to do, to protect the Stone with your life in that way. But it's all a moot point now, the Stone has been destroyed." Professor Dumbledore's face seemed to sag for a moment with an emotion Harry couldn't place, before he continued. "Now, my boy, I suggest you rest, there will be a feast tonight, and if you are recovered enough, I should think Madam Pomfrey will allow you to attend." With that, the Headmaster raised himself from the armchair and turned to exit.

"Professor, wait!" Harry called. Dumbledore turned, one eyebrow raised. "Can I ask you a question?"  
"Certainly, my boy," the bearded wizard replied.

"Did I kill Professor Quirrell?" Harry whispered, voice cracking. That same unplaceable emotion crossed the headmaster's face before he replied.

"Professor Quirrell was dead from the moment he allowed Lord Voldemort to inhabit his body, and would have died the moment Lord Voldemort was able to utilize the Philosopher's Stone and leave his body. So your actions did not affect the outcome." Here the old wizard's voice softened. "But Professor Quirrell is dead, and all death is worth grieving, even if the deceased is not whom we once knew them as. I am sorry that you had to experience that."  
Harry gulped, a lone tear rolling down his cheek. "And Voldemort? Is he…"

"I'm sorry Harry," the professor replied. "Lord Voldemort is still alive, fleeing as a disembodied spirit. And unfortunately there is no proof that he was ever here, so I must ask you to keep this information to yourself. And Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger of course. To most people claiming Lord Voldemort is alive would be the talk of insanity or a fearmonger, and you do not want to be known for either. Now, Harry, I must leave if you have no more questions."

Warring emotions roiled inside of Harry's mind as he replied. "Just one more question, Professor. Why did Voldemort want to kill _me_? He told me that my parents could have lived, but that they died protecting me."

Professor Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I had hoped to avoid this conversation for some years, Harry. Some things you should not have to know so young. May I delay this conversation with the promise that I _will_ tell you, but not yet?"

Fierce anger surged through Harry's veins. "I nearly died," he hissed, "I killed my professor, and you want to hide the truth because I'm _too young_? He _killed _my _parents_! And now I find out it was because of me! TELL ME!" he roared, and his magic surged within him, straining out to Albus Dumbledore, seeking to compel the truth.

The headmaster's eyes narrowed as he felt the aura emanating from his student, and he reinforced his passive Occlumantic shields with active ones. A burst of rage could only propel an untrained mental attack for so long, however, and soon Harry's aura subsided. "Very well," the Headmaster agreed, "I shall tell you. But, Mr. Potter, be warned that what you just did was a very dangerous and foolish attempt to compel me by wandless magic. And should you try it again in my presence, I will not hesitate to crush you." And with those words, Albus Dumbledore flexed a tiny portion of his indomitable magical will outwards, causing Harry to unthinkingly flinch back into his blankets in abject, primal terror. "And so, to begin at the beginning, around a year before you were born there was a prophecy…"

* * *

**Author's Note:**

The chess opening used by Professor Quirrell is a direct reference to the excellent story on this site _The King's Indian Attack_ by CallunaRussell.

Everyone in the audience already knows what happens, Harry, Ron and Hermione of _Natural Born Mage_ are the only ones who don't know anything about the Philosopher's Stone and the Mirror of Erised, because they've lived a much different school year to canon. So I decided to go with a cinematic montage instead of boring repetition. It got kind of silly in there, which is not really the style of the story, but for this particular moment I think it's a viable decision. I wouldn't expect too many more passages like that.

Well, it has indeed been a long time (but less than half a year!) and I have many times considered just letting this story die, but I don't want to because I believe it's worth saving. So after I publish the epilogue I'm going to try to make some progress on _Natural Born Mage Book 2 _as well as finally getting some more work done on the _Thirdboy _sequel _Heirs of the Underdark_. We'll see.


	15. Epilogue

**Chapter 15: Epilogue**

"You threatened the Headmaster?" Hermione asked, aghast, as she sat with Harry and Ron in their closed compartment on the Hogwarts Express.

"Well when you put it like that, Hermione," Harry replied with a sigh, "But let me tell you what he did after," and he proceeded to tell his friends about Dumbledore's promised consequences of a repetition of that threat, and the conversation they had had afterwards.

"How is it, Hermione," Ron asked when he had finished, "that you're more upset that Harry got a little angry at Professor Dumbledore than that there's a prophecy that says he has to kill You-Know-Who or You-Know-Who will kill him?"  
Hermione didn't respond, and Harry shot Ron a look. "A little too far, mate," he said, and slid over to put an arm around Hermione. The older girl sat for a moment and then looked up.  
"We need to make a list."

"A list?"

"Well, we know that you and um, er, V-Voldemort are going to end up fighting, and Ron and I are going to be there with you, of course, so we need a list of everything we need to do before then to make sure we win. I think we should probably start learning some spells we can use to fight with, for one thing."

Ron started laughing. "You're brilliant, Hermione," he said, and Harry burst out laughing too. Hermione pulled out a roll of parchment and a quill.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

This is it, the big one.

That's what she said.

That's so Chapter 12.

Anyway, _Natural Born Mage_ is complete. There will be a sequel (sooner or later, or later than that), but with the prophecy out of the way we can have much more interesting main characters, and the AU can go off the rails sooner rather than later. If you want more _NBM_ content, follow me as an author!


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